HAPPINESS 


ESSAYS  ON  THE 
MEANING  OF  LIFE 
BY§  CARL  HILTY 


TRANSLATED  3  BY 
FRANCIS  G.PEABODY 


HAPPINESS:  BY  CARL  HILTY 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


HAPPINESS 

ESSAYS  ON  THE  MEANING 
OF  LIFE  BY  CARL  HILTY 

PROFESSOR  OF  CONSTITUTIONAL  LAW 
UNIVERSITY  OF  BERN.  TRANSLATED  BY 
FRANCIS  GREENWOOD  PEABODY 
PROFESSOR  OF  CHRISTIAN  MORALS  IN 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY,  CAMBRIDGE 


NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  CO. 

LONDON:   MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  L™.  1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Set  up  and  electrotyped  January,  1903.     Reprinted  June, 
October,  1903. 


Norfoooto 
Berwick  fc  Smith  Co.,  Norwood,  Man.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 
ESSAY  I 

THE  ART  OF  WORK  3 

ESSAY  II 

HOW  TO  FIGHT  THE  BATTLES  OF  LIFE  25 

ESSAY  III 

GOOD  HABITS  45 

ESSAY  IV 

THE    CHILDREN    OF    THIS    WORLD    ARE 
WISER  THAN  THE   CHILDREN  OF  LIGHT        6l 

ESSAY  V 

THE  ART  OF  HAVING  TIME  73 

ESSAY  VI 

HAPPINESS  97 

ESSAY  VII 

THE  MEANING  OF  LIFE  127 

NOTES  153 


2130559 


PREFACE 

Great  numbers  of  thoughtful  people  are  just 
now  much  perplexed  to  know  what  to  make  of 
thefafts  of  life,  and  are  looking  about  them  for 
some  reasonable  interpretation  of  the  modern 
world.  'They  cannot  abandon  the  work  of  the 
world,  but  they  are  conscious  that  they  have  not 
learned  the  art  of  work.  They  have  to  fight  the 
battle  of  life,  but  they  are  not  sure  what  weapons 
are  fit  for  that  battle.  They  are  so  beset  by  the 
cares  of  living  that  they  have  no  time  for  life 
itself.  They  observe  that  happiness  often  eludes 
those  who  most  eagerly  pursue  it;  and  that  the 
meaning  of  life  is  often  hidden  from  those  whose 
way  would  seem  to  be  most  free.  To  this  state  of 
mind — hesitating,  restless,  and  dissatisfied,  in 
the  world  but  not  content  to  be  of  the  world — 
the  reflections  of  Professor  Hilty,  as  published 
in  Switzerland  and  Germany,  have  already 
brought  much  reassurance  and  composure ;  and 
their  message  seems  hardly  less  applicable  to 
English  and  American  life.  Here  also  the  fever 
of  commercialism  threatens  the  vitality  of  ideal- 
ism, and  here  also  the  art  of  life  is  lost  in  the 
pace  of  living.  Religion  to  a  great  many  edu- 
cated people  still  seems,  as  Bishop  Butler  wrote 
in  1736,  "not  so  much  as  a  subjeff  of  inquiry. 


'This  seems  agreed  among  persons  of  discern- 
ment";  and  a  book  about  religion  might  still 
begin  with  the  words  which  Schleiermacher 
wrote  in  1 806 :  "  //  may  well  surprise  the  wise 
men  of  this  age  that  any  one  should  still  venture 
to  ask  their  attention  for  a  subject  which  they 
have  so  wholly  abandoned."  And  yet,  in  regions 
of  experience  which  no  one  fails  sooner  or  later 
to  enter , —  regions  of  great  joy  and  sorrow ,  ex- 
periences of  serious  duty  and  bewildering  doubts 
of  the  meaning  of  life, — many  a  mind  that  has 
seemed  to  itself  to  have  outgrown  religion  looks 
about  for  a  religion  that  is  real.  Such  a  mind 
will  not  be  satisfied  with  a  left-over  faith ;  it 
will  not  be  tempted  by  an  ecclesiastical  omni- 
science. It  demands  sanity  ,  reserve,  wisdom,  and 
insight,  a  competent  witness  of  the  things  of  the 
Spirit.  This  is  the  state  of  mind  to  which  this 
little  book  is  addressed.  'The  author  makes  his  ap- 
peal not  to  discussion ,  but  to  life.  He  reports  the 
story  of  a  rational  experience. He  walks  with  con- 
fidence because  he  knows  the  way.  He  accepts  the 
saying  of  Pico  della  Mirandola:  "  Philosophia 
veritatem  quaerit, .  . .  religio  possidet"  Let  us 
take  life,  he  says,  just  as  it  is  and  must  be,  and 
observe  that  the  doors  which  lead  into  its  inner 
meaning  open  only  to  the  key  of  a  reasonable  faith. 


VI 


//  might  be  fancied  that  a  writer  thus  de- 
scribed must  be  a  recluse  or  mystic,  remote  from 
the  spirit  of  the  modern  world  and  judging  ex- 
periences which  he  does  not  share.  Quite  the 
contrary  is  the  f aft.  Thephilosophy  of  life  which 
he  teaches  is  wrought  out  of  large  experience, 
both  of  academic  and  political  affairs,  and  that 
which  draws  readers  to  the  author  is  his  capa- 
city to  maintain  in  the  midst  of  important  duties 
of  public  service  an  unusual  detachment  of  de- 
sire and  an  interior  quietness  of  mind.  His  short 
Essays  are  the  Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
told  in  the  language  of  modern  life ;  the  Imita- 
tion of  Christ,  expressed  with  the  academic  re- 
serve of  a  modern  gentleman. 

Some  years  ago  I  obtained  permission  from 
Professor  Hilty  to  translate  for  English  and 
American  readers  a  few  of  these  Essays  which 
had  found  such  acceptance  in  Switzerland  and 
Germany ;  and  the  present  volume,  containing 
his  first  series,  has  been  a  pleasant  occupation 
of  some  vacation  days.  I  have  found  it  necessary, 
however,  to  use  much  freedom  in  dealing  with 
his  idiomatic  and  epigrammatic  style,  and  have 
perhaps  exceeded  the  legitimate  right  of  a  trans- 
lator in  the  attempt  to  reproduce  the  tone  and 
temper  of  the  author.  Nothing,  I  think,  is  here 


Vll 


which  Professor  Hilty  has  not  said ;  but  there 
are  many  shifting*  of  phrase  and  many  rup- 
tures of  German  sentences ;  and  here  and  there  a 
passage  has  been  omitted  which  seemed  impor- 
tant to  Swiss  readers  only.  The  Essay  on  Epic- 
tetus,  being  rather  a  compilation  and  review 
than  an  illustration  of  Hilty' s  own  philosophy 
of  life,  is  omitted;  as  are  also  the  copious  and 
discursive  footnotes  which  enrich  the  original. 
I  trust  that  these  liberties  and  omissions  may 
not  obscure  the  qualities  of  Professor  Hilty 's 
mind — its  insight ,  sagacity,  humor,  and  de- 
voutness — which  no  one  who  has  had  the  privi- 
lege of  his  personal  acquaintance  can  recall 
without  affecJion  and  gratitude. 

FRANCIS  G.  PEABODY. 


Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  Oftober  15,  1902. 


Vlll 


NOTE 

Carl  Hilty  was  born  February  28,  1833,  a* 
Chur,  Switzerland.  He  was  a  student  at  Got- 
ftingen,  Heidelberg,  London,  and  Paris;  and 
an  advocate  at  Chur,  1855—1 874.  In  1 874  he 
was  appointed  Professor  of  Constitutional  Law 
(Staats-  und  Volkerrecht)  in  the  University  of 
Bern,  which  position  he  still  holds.  Since  1 890 
he  has  been  a  member  of  the  Swiss  House  of 
Representatives  (  Nationalrat) ;  and  in  1901 
he  was  Re  El  or  of  the  University  of  Bern. 
Among  his  scientific  writings  may  be  named  the 
following:  Theorists  and  Idealists  of  Democ- 
racy (Theoristen  und  Idealisten  der  Demo- 
kratie),  Bern,  1868;  Ideas  and  Ideals  of  Swiss 
Politics  (Ideen  und  Ideale  schweizerischer 
Politik),  Bern,  1875;  Leftures  on  the  Swiss 
Political  System  (Vorlesungen  uber  die  Politik 
derEidgenossenschaft),  Bern,  1 879 ;  On  Capi- 
tal Punishment  (Ueber  die  Wiedereinfuhrung 
der  Todesstrafe ) ,  Bern,  1879;  ^e  Neutrality 
of  Switzerland  (Die  Neutralitdt  der  Schweiz 
in  ihrer  heutigen  Auffassung),  Bern,  1889 
(French  translation  by  Mentha,  1889^;  The 
Referendum  in  Switzerland  (Das  Referen- 
dum im  schweizerischen  Staatsrecht),  Archiv 
fur  offentliches  Recht,  1887;  The  Boer  War 


IX 


(Der  Burenkrieg),  Bern,  1900.  He  has  also 
been  the  editor  of  the  Journal  of  Swiss  'Juris- 
prudence (  Politisches  Jahrbuch  der  schwei- 
zerischen  Eidgenossenschaft)  since  1886. 

In  the  midst  of  this  scientific  activity  Pro- 
fessor Hilty  has  expressed  his  inner  life  through 
a  series  of  little  books  issued  at  intervals  dur- 
ing the  last  ten  years,  as  follows :  Happiness 
(Cluck),  First  Series,  1891,  Second  Series, 
1895,  Third  Series,  1898;  On  Reading  and 
Speaking  ( Lesen  und  Reden),  1891;  For 
Sleepless  Nights  (Fur  schlaflose  N'dchte) 
\~Brief  Readings  for  each  Day  of  the  Tear\, 
1901. 


I.  THE  ART  OF  WORK 


I.  THE  ART  OF  WORK 

HE  most  important  of  all 
arts  is  the  art  of  work;  for 
if  one  could  thoroughly  un- 
derstand this  art,  all  other 
knowledge  and  conduct 
would  be  infinitely  simpli- 
fied. Few  people,  however, 
really  know  how  to  work,  and  even  in  an 
age  when  oftener  perhaps  than  ever  before 
we  hear  of  "work"  and  "workers"  one  can- 
not observe  that  the  art  of  work  makes  much 
positive  progress.  On  the  contrary,  the  gen- 
eral inclination  seems  to  be  to  work  as  little  as 
possible,  or  to  work  for  a  short  time  in  order 
to  pass  the  remainder  of  one's  life  in  rest. 

Work  and  rest — are  they  then  aims  in 
life  which  are  positiv ely  contradictory  ?  This 
must  be  our  first  inquiry;  for  while  every 
one  is  ready  with  praise  of  work,  pleasure  in 
work  does  not  always  come  with  the  prais- 
ing. So  long  as  the  disinclination  to  work  is 
so  common  an  evil,  indeed  almost  a  disease 
of  modern  civilization,  so  long  as  every  one 
as  soon  as  possible  endeavors  to  escape  from 
the  work  which  he  thus  theoretically  praises, 
there  is  absolutely  no  hope  for  any  better- 
ing of  our  social  condition.  Indeed,  if  work 
and  rest  were  contradictories,  our  social  con- 
ditions wouldbe  wholly  beyond  redemption. 

3 


For  every  human  heart  longs  for  rest.  The 
humblest  and  least  intellectual  know  the  need 
of  it,  and  in  its  highest  moods,  the  soul  seeks 
relief  from  constant  strain.  Indeed,  the  im- 
agination has  found  no  better  name  for  a 
future  and  happier  existence  than  a  state  of 
eternal  rest.  If  work,  then,  is  necessary,  and 
rest  is  the  cessation  of  work,  then  the  saying 
— "In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat 
bread" — is  indeed  a  bitter  curse  and  this 
earth  is  a  "vale  of  tears. "In  every  generation 
there  are  but  few  who  can  on  such  terms  be 
said  to  lead  a  worthy  or  a  human  life;  and 
even  these  can  do  so  only  by  dooming  other 
human  beings  to  the  curse  of  work  and  by 
holding  these  others  fast  boundin  its  slavery. 
It  was  from  this  point  of  view  that  the  an- 
cient authors  pictured  the  hopeless  slavery 
of  the  many  as  the  condition  under  which 
the  few  might  become  free  citizens  of  a  civi- 
lized State;  and  even  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, a  considerable  part  of  the  population  of 
one  great  nation,  with  Christian  preachers, 
Bible  in  hand,  directing  them,  maintained 
on  the  field  of  battle  the  proposition  that  one 
race  should  be  from  generation  to  generation 
condemned  to  be  the  slave  of  another.  Cul- 
ture, it  is  said,  grows  only  under  conditions 
of  wealth,  and  wealth  only  through  accumu- 
lation of  capital,  and  capital  only  through  ac- 


cumulation  of  the  work  of  those  who  are  not 
justly  paid;  that  is  to  say,  through  injustice. 

Such  are  the  conceptions  of  society  which 
at  once  confront  us  as  we  approach  our  sub- 
ject. The  following  pages  are  not,  however, 
to  be  devoted  to  any  profound  consideration 
either  of  the  relative  or  of  the  absolute  truth 
of  these  conceptions.  I  suggest,  at  this  point, 
only  the  obvious  truth,  that  if,  not  some  peo- 
ple, but  all,  would  work  and  work  faithfully, 
the  "Social  Question,"  as  it  is  called,  would 
be  forthwith  solved ;  and  I  may  add,  that  by 
no  other  means  whatever  is  it  likely  to  be 
solved.  Faithful  work,  however,  is  not  to 
be  brought  about  by  compulsion.  Even  if 
the  physical  means  of  universal  compulsion 
were  present,  no  fruitful  work  would  come 
of  it.  It  is  the  desire  for  work  which  must  be 
kindled  in  man ;  and  this  brings  us  back  again 
to  consider  the  principles  which  may  be  ap- 
plied to  this  desire. 

The  desire  for  work,  we  must,  first  of  all, 
admit,  cannot  be  attained  by  instruction;  or 
even — as  our  daily  experience  sadly  testi- 
fies— by  mere  example.  It  must  be  reached 
by  reflection  and  experience;  and  experience 
thus  reflected  on  will  reveal  to  any  serious 
inquirer  the  following  facts.  Rest,  such  as  is 
desired,  is  not  to  be  found  in  complete  in- 
activity of  mind  or  body,  or  in  as  little  activity 

5 


as  possible.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  to  be  found 
only  in  well-adapted  and  well-ordered  activ- 
ity  of  both  body  and  mind.  The  whole  na- 
ture of  man  is  created  for  activity,  and  Nature 
revenges  herself  bitterly  on  him  who  would 
rashly  defy  this  law.  Man  is  indeed  driven 
out  of  the  paradise  of  absolute  rest,  and  God 
gives  him  the  command  to  work,  but  with 
the  work  comes  the  consolation  that  work 
is  essential  to  happiness. 

True  rest,  therefore,  issues  from  work. 
Intellectual  rest  occurs  through  the  percep- 
tion of  fruitful  progress  in  one's  work,  and 
through  the  solving  of  one's  problems.  Phy- 
sical rest  is  found  in  those  natural  intermis- 
sions which  are  given  by  daily  sleep  and 
daily  food,  and  the  essential  and  restful  pause 
of  Sunday.  Such  a  condition  of  continuous 
and  wholesome  activity,  interrupted  only 
by  these  natural  pauses,  is  the  happiest  con- 
dition on  earth,  and  no  man  should  wish  for 
himself  any  other  outward  happiness.  In- 
deed, we  may  go  a  step  farther  and  add  that 
it  does  not  very  much  matter  what  the  na- 
ture of  this  activity  may  be.  Genuine  activ- 
ity, which  is  not  mere  sport,  has  the  property 
of  becoming  interesting  as  soon  as  a  man 
becomes  seriously  absorbed  in  it.  It  is  not 
the  kind  of  activity  which  ensures  happiness 
to  us;  it  is  the  joy  of  action  and  attainment. 
6 


The  greatest  unhappiness  which  one  can  ex- 
perience is  to  have  a  life  to  live  without  a 
work  to  do,  and  to  come  to  the  end  of  life 
without  its  fruit  of  accomplished  work. 

It  is,  therefore,  wholly  justifiable  to  speak 
of  the  "right  to  work."  Indeed,  it  is  the 
most  primitive  of  all  human  rights.  The 
unemployed  are,  we  must  admit,  the  most 
unfortunate  of  people.  There  are,  however, 
quite  as  many  of  these,  and  perhaps  more  of 
them,  in  what  we  call  the  better  classes  than 
among  what  we  call  the  working  classes. 
The  latter  are  driven  to  work  by  necessity, 
while  the  former,  through  their  mistaken 
ways  of  education,  their  prejudices,  and  the 
imperious  custom  which  in  certain  classes 
forbids  genuine  work,  find  themselves  al- 
most absolutely  and  by  heredity  condemned 
to  this  great  unhappiness.  Each  year  we  see 
them  turning  their  steps  with  spiritual  weari- 
ness and  ennui  to  the  Swiss  mountains  and 
health-resorts,  from  which  in  vain  they  an- 
ticipate refreshment.  Once,  the  summer  was 
enough  to  give  them  at  least  a  temporary 
restoration  from  their  disease  of  idleness. 
Now,  they  have  to  add  the  winter  also,  and 
soon  the  fair  valleys  which  they  have  con- 
verted into  hospitals  will  be  open  all  the  year 
to  a  restless  throng,  ever  seeking  rest  and 
never  finding  it,  because  it  does  not  seek 

7 


rest  in  work.  "Six  days  shalt  thou  labor," 
not  less  and  not  more, — with  this  prescrip- 
tion most  of  the  nervous  diseases  of  our  time 
would  be  healed,  except  so  far  as  they  are 
an  inherited  curse  from  idle  ancestors.  With 
this  prescription  most  of  the  physicians  in 
sanitariums  and  insane  asylums  would  lose 
their  practice.  Life  is  not  given  to  man  to  en- 
joy, but,  so  far  as  may  be,  to  use  effectively. 
One  who  does  not  recognize  this  has  already 
lost  his  spiritual  health.  Indeed,  it  is  not 
possible  for  him  to  retain  even  his  physical 
health  as  he  might  under  conditions  of  natu- 
ral activity  and  reasonable  ways  of  living. 
The  days  of  our  age  are  threescore  years  and 
ten,  and  some  are  so  strong  that  they  come 
to  fourscore  years ;  yet  though  there  be  labor 
and  sorrow  in  these  years  of  work,  still  they 
have  been  precious :  thus  we  read  the  ancient 
saying.  Perhaps,  indeed,  this  was  its  original 
meaning. 

We  do  well,  however,  to  add  at  once  one 
limitation.  Not  all  work  is  of  equal  value, 
and  there  is  spurious  work  which  is  directed 
to  fictitious  ends,  and  work  which  is  itself 
fictitious  in  its  form.  Much,  for  instance,  of 
the  sewing  and  embroidering  done  by  culti- 
vated women,  much  of  the  parading  of  sol- 
diers, much  of  what  is  called  art,  like  the  use- 
less drumming  on  the  piano  by  persons  with 
8 


no  musical  sense,  a  considerable  part  of  the 
sportsman's  life,  and,  not  least,  the  time  de- 
voted to  keeping  one's  accounts, — all  these 
are  occupations  of  this  fictitious  nature.  A 
sagacious  and  wide-awake  person  must  look 
for  something  more  satisfying  than  these. 
Here  also  is  the  reason  why  factory  labor, 
and,  in  short,  all  mechanical  occupation  in 
which  one  does  but  a  part  of  the  work,  gives 
meagre  satisfaction,  and  why  an  artisan  who 
completes  his  work,  or  an  agricultural  la- 
borer, is,  as  a  rule,  much  more  contented 
than  factory  operatives,  among  whom  the 
social  discontent  of  the  modern  world  first 
uttered  itself.  The  factory  workman  sees 
little  of  the  outcome  of  his  work.  It  is  the 
machine  that  works,  and  he  is  a  part  of  it. 
He  contributes  to  the  making  of  one  little 
wheel,  but  he  never  makes  a  whole  clock, 
which  might  be  to  him  his  work  of  art  and  an 
achievement  worthy  of  a  man.  Mechanical 
work  like  this  fails  to  satisfy  because  it  offends 
that  natural  consciousness  of  human  worth 
which  the  humblest  human  being  feels.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  happiest  workmen  are 
those  who  can  absolutely  lose  themselves  in 
their  work:  the  artist  whose  soul  must  be 
wholly  occupied  with  his  subject,  if  he  hopes 
to  grasp  and  reproduce  it;  the  scholar  who 
has  no  eye  for  anything  beyond  his  special 

9 


task.  Indeed,  the  same  thing  is  to  be  said  of 
those  people  whom  we  call  "one-idea-ed" 
and  who  have  created  their  own  little  world 
within  one  narrow  sphere.  All  these  have 
at  least  the  feeling — sometimes,  no  doubt, 
without  adequate  reason — that  they  are  ac- 
complishing real  work  for  the  world;  a  true, 
useful,  necessary  work,  which  is  not  mere 
play ;  and  many  such  persons,  by  this  contin- 
uous, strenuous,  and  sometimes  even  phy- 
sically unhealthy  activity,  attain  great  old 
age,  while  idle  and  luxurious  men  and  wo- 
men of  society,  who  are,  perhaps,  the  least 
useful  and  least  productive  class  of  the  mod- 
ern world,  must  devote  much  of  their  time 
to  the  restoration  of  their  health. 

The  first  thing,  then,  for  our  modern 
world  to  acquire  is  the  conviction  and  expe- 
rience that  well-directed  work  is  the  neces- 
sary and  universal  condition  of  physical  and 
intellectual  health,  and  for  this  reason  is  the 
way  to  happiness.  From  this  it  necessarily  fol- 
lows that  the  idle  class  is  to  be  regarded,  not 
as  a  superior  and  favored  class,  but  as  that 
which  they  are, — spiritually  defective  and 
diseased  persons  who  have  lost  the  right 
principle  for  the  guidance  of  their  lives.  As 
soon  as  this  opinion  becomes  general  and  es- 
tablished, then,  and  only  then,  will  the  better 
era  for  the  world  begin.  Until  that  time,  the 
10 


world  will  suffer  from  the  excessive  work 
of  some,  balancing  the  insufficient  work  of 
others,  and  it  still  remains  a  question  which 
of  these  two  types  is  in  reality  the  more  un- 
fortunate. 

Why  is  it  then  that  these  principles — to 
which  the  experience  of  thousands  of  years 
testifies,  which  any  one,  whether  he  works 
or  does  not  work,  can  test  for  himself,  and 
which  ail  the  religions  and  philosophies 
preach — have  not  made  their  just  impres- 
sion? Why  is  it,  for  instance,  that  there  are 
still  thousands  of  women  who  "defend  with 
much  passion  many  passages  of  Bible-teach- 
ing, and  yet,  with  astonishing  composure  and 
in  opposition  to  an  express  command  of  the 
Bible,  take  one  day  at  the  most,  or  perhaps 
none  at  all,  for  work,  and  six  for  refined 
idleness?  All  this  proceeds  in  large  degree 
from  an  irrational  division  and  arrangement 
of  work,  which  thus  ill-arranged  may  indeed 
become  a  positive  burden. 

And  this  brings  me  back  to  the  title  of 
my  Essay.  Instruction  in  the  art  of  work  is 
possible  only  for  him  who  is  already  con- 
vinced of  my  first  proposition,  that  some 
work  is  necessary,  and  who  would  gladly  give 
himself  to  work  if  it  were  not  that,  to  his  sur- 
prise, some  hindrance  confronts  him.  Yet, 
work,  like  every  other  art,  has  its  ways  of 

ii 


dexterity,  by  means  of  which  one  may  greatly 
lessen  its  laboriousness;  and  not  only  the 
willingness  to  work,  but  even  the  capacity 
to  work,  is  so  difficult  to  acquire  that  many 
persons  fail  of  it  altogether. 

The  first  step,  then,  toward  the  overcom- 
ing of  a  difficulty  is  in  recognizing  the  dif- 
ficulty. And  what  is  the  difficulty  which 
chiefly  hinders  work?  It  is  laziness.  Every 
man  is  naturally  lazy.  It  always  costs  one  an 
effort  to  rise  above  one's  customary  condi- 
tion of  physical  indolence.  Moral  laziness  is, 
in  short,  our  original  sin.  No  one  is  naturally 
fond  of  work;  there  are  only  differences  of 
natural  and  constitutional  excitability.  Even 
the  most  active-minded,  if  they  yielded  to 
their  natural  disposition,  would  amuse  them- 
selves with  other  things  rather  than  with 
work. 

Love  of  work  must,  therefore,  proceed 
from  a  motive  which  is  stronger  than  the  mo- 
tive of  physical  idleness.  And  this  motive  is 
to  be  found  in  either  of  two  ways.  It  may  be 
a  low  motive,  as,  for  instance,  a  passion  like 
ambition  or  self-seeking,  or,  indeed,  the  sense 
of  necessity,  as  in  the  preservation  of  life;  or 
it  may  be  a  high  motive,  like  the  sense  of  duty 
or  love,  either  for  the  work  itself,  or  for  the 
persons  for  whom  the  work  is  done.  The  no- 
bler motive  has  this  advantage,  that  it  is  the 
12 


more  permanent  and  is  not  dependent  on 
the  mere  success  of  work.  It  does  not  lose 
its  force  either  through  the  disheartening 
effect  of  failure,  or  the  satisfying  effect  of 
success.  Thus  it  happens  that  ambitious  and 
self-seeking  persons  are  often  very  diligent 
workers,  but  are  seldom  continuous  and 
evenly  progressive  workers.  They  are  al- 
most always  content  with  that  which  looks 
like  work,  if  it  produce  favorable  conditions 
for  themselves,  although  it  does  nothing  of 
this  for  their  neighbors.  Much  of  our  mer- 
cantile and  industrial  activity — and,  alas! 
we  must  add,  much  of  the  work  of  scholars 
and  artists — has  this  mark  of  unreality. 

If,  then,  one  were  to  give  to  a  young  man 
entering  into  lifea  word  of  preliminary  coun- 
sel, it  would  be  this:  Do  your  work  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  or  for  love  of  what  you  are 
doing,  or  for  love  of  certain  definite  persons : 
attach  yourself  to  some  great  interest  of  hu- 
man life — to  a  national  movement  for  politi- 
cal liberty;  to  the  extension  of  the  Christian 
religion;  to  the  elevation  of  the  neglected 
classes;  to  the  abolition  of  drunkenness;  to 
the  restoration  of  permanent  peace  among 
the  nations;  to  social  reform;  to  ballot  re- 
form; to  prison  reform; — there  are  plenty 
of  such  causes  inviting  us  to-day; — and  you 
will  soon  discover  an  impulse  proceeding 


from  these  causes  to  yourself;  and  in  addi- 
tion you  will  have — what  at  first  is  a  great 
help — companionship  in  your  work.  There 
should  be  no  young  person,  man  or  woman, 
to-day  among  civilized  nations  who  is  not  ac- 
tively enlisted  in  some  such  army  of  progress. 
The  only  means  of  elevating  and  strength- 
ening youth,  and  training  it  in  perseverance, 
is  this:  that  early  in  life  one  is  freed  from 
himself,  and  does  not  live  for  himself  alone. 
Selfishness  is  always  enfeebling,  and  from  it 
proceeds  no  work  that  is  strong. 

I  go  on  to  remark  that  the  most  effective 
instrument  to  overcome  one's  laziness  in 
work  is  the  force  of  habit.  Why  should  we 
use  this  mighty  force  in  the  service  of  our 
physical  nature  and  not  put  it  to  use  in  our 
higher  life  as  well?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  one 
can  as  well  accustom  himself  to  work  or  to 
self-control,  to  virtue,  or  truthfulness,  or 
generosity,  as  he  can  to  laziness,  or  self-in- 
dulgence, or  extravagance,  or  exaggeration, 
or  stinginess.  And  this  is  to  be  said  further 
— that  no  virtue  is  securely  possessed  until 
it  has  become  a  habit.  Thus  it  is  that  as  a 
man  trains  himself  to  the  habit  of  work,  the 
resistance  of  idleness  constantly  diminishes 
until  at  last  work  becomes  a  necessity.  When 
this  happens,  one  has  become  free  from  a 
very  great  part  of  the  troubles  of  life. 


There  remain  a  few  elementary  rules  with 
which  one  can  the  more  easily  find  his  way 
to  this  habit  of  work.  And  first  among  such 
rules  is  the  knowing  how  to  begin.  The 
resolution  to  set  oneself  to  work  and  to  fix 
one's  whole  mind  on  the  matter  in  hand  is 
really  the  hardest  part  of  working.  When 
one  has  once  taken  his  pen  or  his  spade  in 
hand,  and  has  made  the  first  stroke,  his 
whole  work  has  already  grown  easier.  There 
are  people  who  always  find  something  espe- 
cially hard  about  beginning  their  work,  and 
who  are  always  so  busy  with  preparations, 
behind  which  lurks  their  laziness,  that  they 
never  apply  themselves  to  their  work  until 
they  are  compelled;  and  then  the  intellec- 
tual and  even  the  physical  excitement  roused 
by  the  sense  of  insufficient  time  in  which 
to  do  one's  work  injures  the  work  itself. 
Other  people  wait  for  some  special  inspira- 
tion, which  in  reality  is  much  more  likely  to 
come  by  means  of,  or  in  the  midst  of,  work 
itself.  It  is  at  least  my  experience  that  one's 
work,  while  one  is  doing  it,  takes  on  a  differ- 
ent look  from  that  which  one  anticipated, 
and  that  one  does  not  reach  so  many  fruitful 
and  new  ideas  in  his  times  of  rest  as  he  does 
during  the  work  itself.  From  all  this  follows 
the  rule,  not  to  postpone  work,  or  lightly  to 
accept  the  pretext  of  physical  or  intellectual 

15 


indisposition,  but  to  dedicate  a  definite  and 
well-considered  amount  of  time  every  day 
to  one's  work.  Then,  if  the  "old  man,"  as 
St.  Paul  calls  him,  is  cunning  enough  to  see 
that  he  must  in  any  event  do  some  work  at  a 
special  time  and  cannot  wholly  give  himself 
to  rest,  he  may  usually  be  trusted  to  resolve 
to  do  each  day  that  which  for  each  day  is 
most  necessary. 

Again,  there  are  a  great  many  men,  oc- 
cupied in  intellectual  work  of  a  productive 
kind,  who  waste  their  time  and  lose  the  hap- 
piness of  work  by  devoting  themselves  to  the 
arrangement  of  their  work,  or  still  oftener,to 
the  introduction  of  their  work.  As  a  general 
rule,  no  artistic,  or  profound,  or  remote  in- 
troduction to  one's  work  is  desirable.  On  the 
contrary,  it  usually  anticipates  unsuitably 
that  which  should  come  later.  Even  if  this 
be  doubted,  the  advice  is  at  any  rate  good 
that  one's  introduction  and  one's  title  should 
be  written  last.  Thus  composed,  they  com- 
monly cost  no  labor.  One  makes  a  beginning 
much  more  easily  when  he  starts  without 
any  preamble,  with  that  chapter  of  his  work 
with  which  he  is  most  familiar.  For  the  same 
reason,  when  one  reads  a  book,  it  is  well  to 
omit  at  the  first  reading  the  preface  and 
often  the  first  chapter.  For  my  own  part,  I 
never  read  a  preface  until  I  have  finished  a 
16 


book,  and  I  discover,  almost  without  excep- 
tion, that  when,  after  reading  the  book,  I 
turn  back  for  a  look  at  the  preface,  I  have 
lost  nothing  by  omitting  it.  Of  course,  it 
must  be  said  that  there  are  books  of  which 
the  preface  is  the  best  part.  Of  these,  how- 
ever, it  may  also  be  said  that  they  are  not 
worth  reading  at  all. 

And  now  I  may  safely  take  still  another 
step  and  add,  that,  with  the  exception  of  an 
introduction  to  your  work  or  its  central  treat- 
ment, it  is  best  to  begin  with  that  part  which 
is  easiest  to  you.  The  chief  thing  is  to  begin. 
One  may  indeed  advance  less  directly  in  his 
work  by  doing  it  unsystematically,  but  this 
loss  is  more  than  made  good  by  his  gain  of 
time.  Under  this  head  also  should  be  added 
two  other  rules.  One  is  the  law:  "Take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow :  for  thejmorrow  shall 
take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself."  Man 
is  endowed  with  the  dangerous  gift  of  im- 
agination, and  imagination  has  a  much  larger 
realm  than  that  of  one's  capacity.  Through 
one's  imagination  one  sees  his  whole  work 
lying  before  him  as  a  task  to  be  achieved 
all  at  once,  while  his  capacity,  on  the  other 
hand,  can  conquer  its  task  only  by  degrees, 
and  must  constantly  renew  its  strength.  Do 
your  work,  then,  as  a  rule,  for  each  day.  The 
morrow  will  come  in  its  own  time,  and  with 

'7 


it  will  come  the  strength  for  the  morrow. 
The  second  rule  is  this :  In  intellectual  work 
one  should,  indeed,  deal  with  his  material 
thoroughly;  but  he  should  not  expect:  to 
exhaust  his  material,  so  that  there  shall  be 
nothing  further  left  to  say  or  to  read.  No 
man's  strength  is  in  these  days  sufficient  for 
absolute  thoroughness.  The  best  principle 
is  to  be  completely  master  of  a  relatively 
small  region  of  research ;  and  to  deal  with 
the  larger  inquiries  only  in  their  essential  fea- 
tures. He  who  tries  to  do  too  much  usually 
accomplishes  too  little. 

A  further  condition  of  good  work  is  this, 
— that  one  should  not  persist  in  working 
when  work  has  lost  its  freshness  and  plea- 
sure. I  have  already  said  that  one  may  be- 
gin without  pleasure,  for  otherwise  one,  as 
a  rule,  would  not  begin  at  all.  But  one  should 
stop  as  soon  as  his  work  itself  brings  fatigue. 
This  does  not  mean  that  one  should,  for 
this  reason,  stop  all  work,  but  only  that  he 
should  stop  the  special  kind  of  work  which 
is  fatiguing  him.  Change  in  work  is  almost 
as  refreshing  as  complete  rest.  Indeed,  with- 
out this  characteristic  of  human  nature,  we 
should  hardly  accomplish  anything. 

Again,  in  order  to  be  able  to  do  much 
work,  one  must  economize  one's  force,  and 
the  practical  means  to  this  is  by  wasting  no 
18 


time  on  useless  activities.  I  can  hardly  make 
plain  how  much  pleasure  and  power  for  work 
is  lost  by  this  form  of  wastefulness.  First  of 
all,  among  such  ways  of  wasting  time  should 
be  reckoned  the  excessive  reading  of  news- 
papers ;  and  to  this  should  be  added  the  ex- 
cessive devotion  to  societies  and  meetings. 
An  immense  numberof  people,  for  instance, 
begin  their  morning,  the  best  time  they  have 
for  work,  with  the  newspaper,  and  end  their 
day  quite  as  regularly  in  some  club  or  meet- 
ing. They  read  each  morning  the  whole  of 
a  paper,  or  perhaps  of  several  papers,  but 
it  would  be  hard,  as  a  rule,  to  savrwhat  in- 
tellectual acquisition  remained  the  next  day 
from  such  reading.  This,  at  least,  is  certain, 
that  after  one  has  finished  his  paper,  he  ex- 
periences a  certain  disinclination  for  work, 
and  snatches  up  another  paper,  if  it  happen 
to  be  within  reach.  Any  one,  therefore,  who 
desires  to  do  much  work  must  carefully  avoid 
all  useless  occupation  of  his  mind,  and,  one 
may  even  add,  of  his  body.  He  must  reserve 
his  powers  for  that  which  it  is  his  business 
to  do. 

Finally,  and  for  intellectual  work, — with 
which  throughout  I  am  specially  concerned, 
— there  is  one  last  and  important  help.  It 
is  the  habit  of  reviewing,  and  revising,  one's 
material.  Almost  every  intellectual  work  is 

'9 


at  first  grasped  only  in  its  general  outlines, 
and  then,  as  one  attacks  it  a  second  time, 
its  finer  aspects  reveal  themselves,  and  the 
appreciation  of  them  becomes  more  com- 
plete. One's  chief  endeavor,  then,  should 
be,  as  a  famous  writer  of  our  day  remarks, 
"not  to  achieve  the  constant  productiveness 
which  permits  itself  no  pause,  but  rather  to 
lose  oneself  in  that  which  one  would  create. 
Hence  issues  the  desire  to  reproduce  one's 
ideal  in  visible  forms.  External  industry,  the 
effort  to  grasp  one's  material  and  promptly 
master  it, — these  are,  indeed,  obvious  con- 
ditions of  authorship,  but  they  are  of  less 
value  than  that  higher  and  spiritual  industry 
which  steadily  works  toward  an  unattained 
end." 

The  conception  of  work,  thus  excellently 
stated,  meets  a  final  difficulty  which  our  dis- 
cussion has  already  recognized.  For  work, 
under  this  view,  maintains  continuity,  in 
spite  of  and  even  during  one's  necessary  rest. 
Here  is  the  ideal  of  the  highest  work.  The 
mind  works  continuously,  when  it  has  once 
acquired  the  genuine  industry  which  comes 
through  devotion  to  one's  task.  In  fact,  it  is 
curious  to  notice  how  often,  after  pauses  in 
one's  work  not  excessively  prolonged,  one's 
material  has  unconsciously  advanced.  Every- 
thing has  grown  spontaneously.  Many  dif- 
20 


ficulties  seem  suddenly  disposed  of,  one's 
first  supply  of  ideas  is  multiplied,  assumes 
picturesqueness,  and  lends  itself  to  expres- 
sion ;  so  that  the  renewal  of  one's  work  oc- 
curs with  ease,  as  though  it  were  merely  the 
gathering  of  fruit  which  in  the  interval  had 
ripened  without  effort  of  our  own. 

This,  then,  is  a  second  reward  of  work,  in 
addition  to  that  which  one  commonly  recog- 
nizes. Only  he  who  works  knows  what  en- 
joyment and  refreshment  are.  Rest  which 
does  not  follow  work  is  like  eating  without 
appetite.  The  best,  the  pleasantest,  and  the 
most  rewarding — and  also  the  cheapest — 
way  of  passing  the  time  is  to  be  busy  with 
one's  work.  And  as  matters  stand  in  the 
world  to-day,  it  seems  reasonable  to  antici- 
pate that  at  the  end  of  our  century  some  so- 
cial revolution  will  make  those  who  are  then 
at  work  the  ruling  class;  just  as  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  last  century  a  social  revolution 
gave  to  industrious  citizens  their  victory  over 
the  idle  nobility  and  the  idle  priests.  Wher- 
ever any  social  class  sinks  into  idleness,  sub- 
sisting like  those  idlers  of  the  past  on  in- 
comes created  by  the  work  of  others,  there 
such  non-productive  citizens  again  must 
yield.  The  ruling  class  of  the  future  must 
be  the  working  class. 


21 


II.   HOW  TO   FIGHT  THE  BAT- 
TLES OF  LIFE 


II.   HOW  TO   FIGHT  THE   BAT- 
TLES OF  LIFE 

ANY  people  in  our  day  — 
even  well-intentioned  peo- 
ple—  have  lost  their  faith 
in  idealism.  They  regard  it 
as  a  respectable  form  of  phi- 
losophy for  the  education 
of  the  young,  but  as  a  creed 
of  little  use  in  later  life.  Theoretically,  they 
say,  and  for  purposes  of  education,  idealism 
has  much  to  commend  it,  but,  practically, 
things  turn  out  to  be  brutally  material.  Thus 
such  persons  divide  life  into  two  parts,  in 
one  of  which  we  may  indulge  ourselves  in 
fine  theories  and  sentiments,  and,  indeed, 
are  to  be  encouraged  in  them;  and  in  the 
other  of  which  we  wake  rudely  from  this 
dream  and  deal  with  reality  as  best  we  can. 
Kant,  in  one  of  his  briefer  writings,  dealt  a 
hundred  years  ago  with  this  state  of  mind. 
He  examined  the  phrase  which  was  even 
then  familiar:  "That  may  be  well  enough  in 
theory,  but  does  network  in  practice";  and 
he  showed  that  it  expressed  an  absurd  con- 
tradiction unworthy  of  a  thinking  being. 

The  logical  realism  of  our  day,  however, 
is  not  concerned  with  theoretical  proposi- 
tions. It  turns,  on  the  contrary,  to  the  hard 
fact  of  the  struggle  for  existence,  in  which 

25 


indifference  to  others  and  absolute  self-in- 
terest are  not  only  permissible,  but,  as  one 
looks  at  the  real  conditions  of  life,  seem  more 
or  less  positively  demanded.  These  modern 
realists  say:  "The  world  we  see  about  us  is 
one  where  only  a  few  can  succeed  and  where 
many  must  fail.  There  are  not  good  things 
enough  for  all.  The  question  is  not  whether 
such  a  state  of  things  is  right  or  just.  On  the 
contrary,  it  must  be  admitted  to  be  a  hard, 
unreasonable,  unjust  universe.  It  is  not  for 
the  individual,  however,  set  without  consent 
of  his  own  in  such  a  universe,  to  change  it. 
His  only  problem  is  to  make  it  certain  that 
in  such  a  universe  he  is  fthe  hammer,  not 
the  anvil/'1 

Such  is  the  essence  of  that  worldly  wis- 
dom which  is  the  creed  of  many  cultivated 
people  to-day.  With  it  disappears,  of  course, 
any  need  of  moral  or  religious  education. 
Such  instruction  in  schools  might  as  well 
be  abandoned.  Indeed,  Saint-Just  made  the 
original  suggestion  that  instead  of  such  in- 
struction there  should  be  substituted  the 
daily  study  of  the  placards  posted  on  the 
street  corners  which  announce  the  police 
regulations  of  the  government  as  to  the  con- 
duct of  life.  Under  such  a  theory  of  educa- 
tion, young  people  would  grow  immensely 
clever  and  practical.  They  would  be  trained 
26 


to  get  and  to  keep.  They  would  be  free  from 
every  sentiment  of  honor  which  might  be  a 
hindrance  in  their  path.  Most  of  them,  it 
must  be  confessed,  would,  early  in  life,  lose 
physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  vigor,  and 
others  would  lament,  perhaps  too  late,  that 
their  youth  had  been  sacrificed  to  that  which 
was  not  worth  their  seeking.  At  the  best,  they 
would  acquire  but  uncertain  possessions  to 
be  defended  daily  against  a  thousand  com- 
petitors, and  these  possessions  would  bring 
bitterness  along  with  them,  both  to  those 
who  have  them  and  to  those  who  have  them 
not.  Peace  and  happiness  would  be  secured 
to  no  one.  Such  seems  to  be  the  issue  of  this 
view  of  life  which  is  now  so  common  among 
us,  and  which  we  call  the  view  of  the  "prac- 
tical" man. 

But  what  is  idealism?  It  is,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  a  form  of  faith,  an  inward  convic- 
tion. It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  per- 
manence of  the  world;  yet  it  never  can  be 
proved  true,  and  indeed  for  him  who  has  it 
needs  no  proof.  Further,  no  one  becomes  an 
idealist  by  being  taughtabout  it  or  by  reason- 
ing concerning  it.  Nor  is  this  so  strange  as  it 
might  seem,  for  the  very  trustworthiness  of 
the  human  reason  itself  is  proved  to  us  only 
by  experience.  The  very  truths  of  religion  re- 
mainunprovedunless  the  moral  power  which 

27 


issues  from  them  provides  their  proof.  That 
which  has  power  must  have  reality.  No  other 
proof  of  reality  is  final.  Even  our  senses  could 
not  convince  us,  if  our  experience  and  the 
experience  of  all  other  men  did  not  assure 
us  that  we  could — not  unconditionally,  but 
under  normal  conditions — trust  them  not 
to  deceive.  That  which  brings  conviction  to 
one  is  his  experience,  and  that  which  rouses 
in  him  the  desire  and  the  inward  disposition 
to  believe  in  his  own  experience  is  the  testi- 
mony of  others  who  have  had  that  experi- 
ence themselves. 

There  is  a  short  treatise,  written  by  one 
who  in  his  youth  was  a  friend  of  Goethe's, — 
the  Russian  General  von  Klinger, — which 
gives  its  testimony  in  a  few  words  concerning 
this  idealism  in  practical  life.  It  may  be  found 
in  von  Klinger's  rarely  opened  works,  under 
the  title:  "How  it  is  possible  without  deceit, 
and  even  in  constant  conflict  with  evil,  to 
overcome  the  world."  Its  contents  are  sim- 
ply a  series  of  weighty  aphorisms,  of  which 
I  select  a  few: 

"First  of  all,"  says  von  Klinger,"onewho 
would  overcome  the  world  must  give  up 
thinking  of  what  people  call  happiness,  and 
must  with  all  his  might,  without  indirect- 
ness, or  fear,  or  self-seeking,  simply  do  his 
duty.  He  must,  that  is  to  say,  be  pure  in 
28 


mind  and  heart,  so  that  none  of  his  actions 
shall  be  stained  by  selfishness.  Where  jus- 
tice and  right-dealing  are  called  for,  there 
must  be  in  him  no  distinction  of  great  or 
small,  of  significant  or  insignificant.  .  .  . 

"Secondly,  for  the  protection  of  his  own 
strength  and  his  purity  of  conduct,  he  must 
be  free  from  the  desire  to  shine,  free  from  the 
shallowness  of  vanity  and  the  restless  search 
for  fame  and  power.  Most  human  follies 
proceed  from  the  restlessness  of  ambition. 
Ambition  demoralizes  both  those  whom  it 
masters  and  those  through  whom  it  accom- 
plishes its  ends.  The  boldest  and  most  can- 
did criticism  does  not  wound  so  deeply  as 
does  the  foolish  longing  for  praise.  .  .  . 

"Again,  one  who  is  thus  pure  in  motive 
will  permit  himself  to  be  conspicuous  only 
when  and  where  his  duty  demands  it.  For 
the  rest,  he  will  live  a  life  of  seclusion  in  his 
family,  with  few  friends,  among  his  books, 
and  in  the  world  of  the  spirit.  Thus  heavoids 
that  conflict  with  others  about  trifles  which 
to  many  persons  are  of  such  absorbing  con- 
cern. One  may  be  pardoned  for  eccentricity 
in  such  affairs  by  having  no  place  at  all 
among  them.  His  life  does  not  touch  the 
circle  of  society,  and  he  asks  of  society  only 
to  let  him  do  his  duty,  and  then  to  be  per- 
mitted to  live  in  peace.  It  may  be  that  he 

29 


will  thus  stir  others  to  envy  or  to  hate,  but 
it  will  be  an  envy  and  hate  too  petty  for  ex- 
pression, or  at  any  rate  ineffective  for  harm. 
He  who  has  thus  withdrawn  from  trifles  gets 
much  out  of  life.  Indeed,  he  gets  more  than 
he  expects  and  more  than  he  has  intended; 
for  he  finally  gains  that  which  men  in  its 
coarser  sense  call  happiness.  .  .  . 

"To  all  this,"  says  von  Klinger,  "I  add 
another  point:  that  one  must  withhold  him- 
self from  all  ambition  to  pose  as  a  reformer 
and  from  all  signs  of  that  desire.  He  must 
not  enter  into  controversy  about  opinions 
with  people  who  have  nothing  but  opinions. 
He  must  speak  of  himself  only  to  himself 
and  think  of  himself  only  in  himself.  .  .  . 
I  have  developed,"  concludes  von  Klinger, 
"my  own  character  and  my  own  inner  ex- 
perience as  my  power  and  disposition  have 
permitted;  and  so  far  as  I  have  done  this  se- 
riously and  honestly,  so  far  has  come  to  me 
of  itself  what  men  call  happiness  and  pros- 
perity. I  have  observed  myself  more  deeply 
than  others  and  dealt  with  myself  more  un- 
sparingly than  with  others.  I  have  never 
played  a  part,  never  felt  inclined  thereto, 
and  have  ever  expressed  the  convictions  I 
have  reached  without  fear,  and  have  held 
them  fast,  so  that  I  now  no  more  fear  the 
possibility  of  being  or  doing  other  than  my 

30 


convictions  demand.  One  is  safe  from  the 
temptations  of  others  only  when  one  can  no 
more  tempt  himself.  I  have  borne  many  re- 
sponsibilities, but  at  the  conclusion  of  each 
I  have  passed  the  rest  of  my  time  in  the 
profoundest  solitude  and  the  most  complete 
obscurity."1  ^ 

The  author  of  these  weighty  aphorisms 
was  dealing  especially  with  political  life.  He 
does  not  seek  for  them  any  philosophical 
basis.  He  offers  them  simply  as  the  result 
of  his  stirring  and  often  adventurous  career, 
and  as  such  his  testimony  is  far  more  valu- 
able than  if  it  had  issued  from  the  closet  of 
a  philosopher  or  a  theologian  who  had  slight 
contact  with  practical  affairs.  It  is  not  my  in- 
tention to  translate  these  suggestions  into 
abstract  form  and  make  them  less  real  and 
persuasive.  I  only  desire  to  annotate  them 
with  a  few  practical  comments. 

I.  Concerning  von  Klinger's  first  propo- 
sition, it  is  to  be  said  that  true  idealism  is 
not  the  deceiving  of  oneself  concerning  re- 
ality, or  the  intentional  ignoring  of  reality, 
or  the  hiding  from  reality,  or  the  creating 
for  oneself  a  world  of  unreality.  Idealism, 
on  the  contrary,  is  reached  by  a  deeper  in- 
terpretation of  the  world,  by  victory  over  it 
and  especially  by  victory  over  oneself.  For 
we,  too,  are  an  integral  part  of  the  world  and 

31 


we  cannot  conquer  the  whole  unless,  first 
of  all,  we  conquer  our  own  part  of  it,  by 
strength  of  principles  and  force  of  habit. 
Hence  issues  that  right  judgment  of  suc- 
cess which  von  Klinger  lays  down.  One  of 
our  own  contemporaries,  Thiers,  a  man  who 
had  in  high  degree  attained  success,  and  who 
at  certain  points  in  his  life  pursued  it  with 
excessive  zeal,  once  made  this  striking  re- 
mark: "  Men  of  principle  need  not  succeed. 
Success  is  necessary  only  to  schemers."  In 
other  words,  agenuine  victory  over  the  world 
is  not  to  be  achieved  through  that  kind  of 
success  which  the  French  call  succes,  and 
which  for  many  men  makes  the  end  of  effort. 
He  who  plays  this  game  of  ambition  may 
as  well  abandon  the  hope  of  peace  of  mind 
or  of  peace  with  others,  and  in  most  cases 
he  must  forfeit  outright  his  self-respect. 

Real  success  in  life,  then,  the  attainment 
of  the  highest  human  perfection  and  of  true 
and  fruitful  activity,  necessarily  and  repeat- 
edly involves  outward  failure.  Success,  to 
von  Klinger,  means  an  honorable  career 
with  victory  at  its  close.  The  work  of  life  is 
regarded  in  its  wholeness,  as  a  brave  and 
honorable  man  should  wish  and  hope  it  to 
be.  Unbroken  success  is  necessary  only  for 
cowards.  Indeed,  one  may  go  further  and 
say  that  the  secret  of  the  highest  success  in 

32 


important  affairs  often  lies  in  failure.  The 
men  who  have  most  completely  commanded 
the  admiration  of  the  world,  and  who  are 
most  conspicuous  in  history,  are  not  those 
who  have  reached  the  goal  of  life  through 
success  alone.  Caesar  and  Napoleon  would 
have  been  remembered  only  as  examples 
of  tyranny  if  it  had  not  been  for  Brutus, 
Waterloo  and  St.  Helena.  The  Maid  of 
Orleans  would  be  recalled  as  a  masterful 
woman  like  many  others  had  it  not  been 
for  her  martyrdom.  Hannibal  would  be  no 
noble  example  if  Carthage  had  conquered. 
A  traitor  like  Charles  I.  of  England  is  still 
held  in  high  honor  by  many  persons  who 
cannot  endure  the  memory  of  the  most  he- 
roic character  in  modern  history, — Crom- 
well. Had  Cromwell  died  on  the  scaffold 
and  Charles  on  the  throne,  this  estimate  of 
them  would  have  been  reversed.  The  life  of 
the  Emperor  Frederick  III.  is  another  ex- 
ample and  will  be  a  still  more  impressive 
one  as  the  better  future  looks  back  on  it. 
The  greatest  example  of  all,  the  cross,  the 
gallows  of  its  time,  became  for  all  the  world 
a  sign  of  honor  and  subdued  to  itself  the 
power  of  Rome.  Looking  at  Christianity 
in  a  wholly  human  and  untheological  way, 
one  may  believe  that  its  unexampled  suc- 
cess would  not  have  been  possible  if  the 

33 


scholars  and  scribes  of  that  day  had  wel- 
comed it.  Something  of  such  failure  comes 
with  all  right  ways  of  life.  Without  it,  life 
sinks  in  the  rut  of  commonplace.  This  kind 
of  failure  should  not  bear  the  common  re- 
proach of  misfortune.  It  is,  on  the  contrary, 
the  crown  of  thorns  which  marks  the  way 
of  the  cross,  and  proves  to  be  the  true  crown 
after  all. 

II.  Concerning  the  second  aphorism  of 
von  Klinger's  there  is  this  to  add:  that  no 
self-seeking  person  ever  reaches  the  end  he 
most  desires.  It  is  surprising  to  see  what  one 
may  accomplish  when  he  gives  his  attention 
and  energy  wholly  to  the  doing  of  one  thing. 
Examples  of  this  kind  of  success  meet  us  at 
every  turn.  What  these  persons  at  heart  de- 
sire, however,  is  not  the  wealth,  or  honor,  or 
power,  or  learning  which  they  reach.  They 
prize  these  possessions  only  as  the  neces- 
sary prerequisites  for  happiness.  What  is  it, 
then,  of  which  they  must  first  of  all  be  con- 
vinced? It  is  the  truth  that  happiness  does 
not  come  through  these  possessions,  that,  in 
fa6t,  these  possessions  are  likely  to  bring  un- 
happiness.  When  this  conviction  is  attained, 
then,  at  last,  the  self-seeking  spirit  will  per- 
haps abandon  its  aim. 

Of  all  self-seekers,  the  most  unfortunate 
are  to  be  found  among  the  educated.  When 

34 


they  stand  on  the  lower  rung  of  the  ladder 
which  they  wish  to  climb,  they  are  consumed 
by  envy  of  those  above  them;  and  of  all  the 
emotions  which  degrade  a  man  in  his  own 
eyes  the  most  humiliating  is  envy.  When, 
on  the  other  hand,  they  have  climbed  to  the 
top,  then  they  are  distressed  by  the  constant 
fear  of  those  who  are  climbing  toward  them 
and  whose  thoughts  and  purposes  they  well 
know  from  their  own  experience.  If  they  seek 
safety  by  surrounding  themselves  by  flatter- 
ers, then  they  are  never  safe  from  betrayal ; 
for  if  they  seem  likely  to  fall,  no  one  cares 
to  hold  them  up.  If,  finally,  they  shut  their 
ears  to  these  disturbing  voices  within  their 
hearts  and  give  themselves  to  self-indul- 
gence, then  they  lose  the  very  qualities  which 
are  most  essential  to  success. 

Besides  all  this,  the  chances  of  success  for 
the  self-seeker  are  slight.  Not  one  in  ten  at- 
tains what  he  desires,  and,  even  of  those 
whom  we  call  fortunate,  few  should  be  so 
reckoned  until  they  die.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
cite  examples  of  such  failure.  The  daily  paper 
reports  them  to  us  every  morning.  Long  ago 
one  of  the  prophets  of  Israel  described  this 
unsatisfying  result  of  life  and  effort  in  classic 
words  which  we  may  well  repeat:  "Ye  have 
sown  much,  and  bring  in  little ;  ye  eat,  but  ye 
have  not  enough ;  ye  drink,  but  ye  are  not 

35 


filled  with  drink;  ye  clothe  you,  but  there  is 
none  warm ;  and  he  that  earneth  wages  earn- 
eth  wages  to  put  it  into  a  bag  with  holes." 

Still  further,  nothing  is  so  exhausting  as 
this  self-seeking  effort.  The  passion  which  it 
develops  is  like  an  access  of  fever  which  burns 
away  one's  vitality.  The  strength  of  health, 
on  the  other  hand,  renews  itself  through  self- 
forgetting  work;  and  thrives  on  unselfish 
service  done  for  worthy  ends.  Only  in  such 
service  are  other  people  sincerely  inclined 
to  help.  Thus  it  happens  that  some  people, 
though  they  work  hard  and  never  retire  to 
the  health-resorts,  still  live  to  a  robust  old 
age,  while  other  people  spend  half  the  year 
or  perhaps  the  whole  of  it  at  the  baths  and 
remain  without  rest.  The  many  nervous  dis- 
eases of  our  time  are  for  the  most  part  caused 
by  the  self-centred  life,  and  their  real  cure 
must  be  through  a  renewal  in  health  of  mind 
and  will. 

III.  As  to  von  Klinger's  third  suggestion, 
it  is  to  be  said  that  the  inclination  to  soli- 
tude is  absolutely  necessary  not  only  for 
happiness,  but  for  the  tranquil  development 
of  one's  spiritual  life.  The  happiness  which 
can  really  be  attained,  and  which  is  indepen- 
dent of  all  changes,  is  to  be  found  in  a  life 
given  to  great  thoughts  and  in  a  work  peace- 
fully directed  toward  great  ends.  Such  a 

36 


life  is,  however,  necessarily  withdrawn  from 
fruitless  sociability.  As  Goethe  says,  "To 
such  a  life,  all  else  is  vanity  and  illusion." 
It  is  by  such  a  course  of  life  that  one  by  de- 
grees escapes  from  the  fickleness  and  moodi- 
ness  of  life.  He  learns  not  to  take  people  too 
seriously.  He  comes  to  regard  with  tranquil- 
lity the  shifting  changes  of  opinions  and  in- 
clinations. So  far  as  his  inclination  goes  and 
his  duties  permit,he  would  rather  shun  popu- 
larity than  seek  it. 

IV.  As  to  the  last  of  von  Klinger's  para- 
graphs, it  may  be  said  to  contain  the  philo- 
sophy of  his  life.  Looking  at  people  as 
individuals,  their  lives  appear  full  of  con- 
trasts; but  taking  them  all  together,  their 
lives  are  in  fad:  much  alike.  One  section  of 
humanity,  of  high  and  of  low  estate,  lives 
either  consciously  or  unconsciously  a  merely 
animal  life.  Such  persons  simply  follow  the 
path  which  their  physical  nature  indicates, 
fulfilling  their  little  span  of  life,  and  know- 
ing no  other  destiny.  Another  group  is  ever 
seeking  some  escape  from  this  unsatisfying 
end  of  life.  Dante,  in  the  first  canto  of  his 
Divine  Comedy,  very  beautifully  describes 
these  seekers  for  the  better  life;  and  this 
search  makes  in  reality  the  spiritual  experi- 
ence of  all  great  personalities. 

The  first  step  in  this  way  of  life  is  taken 

37 


when  one  becomes  discontented  with  life  as 
it  is  and  longs  for  something  better.  One's 
reason  seeks  an  outlet  from  the  labyrinth  of 
the  world  and  at  last  from  sheer  weariness 
resolves,  at  any  cost,  to  forsake  the  world's 
ways  and  to  seek  peace.  When  one  has  come 
to  this  resolution,  then  he  is  on  the  way  to 
salvation,  and  experiences  that  inner  happi- 
ness which  one  gains  who  has  found  at  last 
the  way  he  ought  to  go.  And,  indeed,  this 
man  is  essentially  saved ;  for  he  is  now  open 
to  the  unhindered  influences  of  new  spiritual 
forces,  against  which  in  his  early  life  his  will 
had  set  itself. 

Yet,  as  a  matter  of  fad,  he  is  only  ready 
for  his  second  step.  It  is  the  long  conflict  for 
supremacy  between  what  the  Apostle  calls 
"the  old  and  the  new  man."  Both  of  them 
are  in  him  still  and  his  problem  is  to  realize 
the  "  new  man  "  and  bring  it  to  fulness  of  life. 
Many  people  who  are  striving  for  the  better 
life  come  to  this  second  step  and  stay  there 
all  their  days;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  so 
many  lives  which  are  rightly  directed  still 
give  the  impression  of  imperfection,  and 
why  they  do  not  seem  to  contribute  much 
— though  often  more  than  we  think — to 
the  ennobling  of  human  relationships. 

There  remains  the  third  step  of  spiritual 
growth,  which,  once  fairly  taken,  leads  to 

38 


the  complete  interpretation  of  life.  It  is  the 
stage  of  practical  activity,  the  participating 
in  the  creation  of  a  spiritual  kingdom.  Some- 
times it  has  been  likened  to  the  taking  part 
in  a  great  work  of  architecture,  sometimes  to 
the  enlistment  in  an  active  war.  Nothing  less 
than  this  life  of  unselfish  service  can  bring 
to  the  individual  true  content.  So  long  as 
one  lives  for  himself  and  is  considering,  even 
in  the  highest  and  noblest  way,  his  own  self- 
culture,  there  lingers  in  him  some  taint  of 
his  original  selfishness,  or,  at  best,  he  but 
half  sees  his  way.  As  Goethe  has  expressed 
it:  "While  one  strives,  he  errs."  This  self- 
directed  effort  must,  at  last,  cease.  Nothing 
is  more  untrue,  nothing  is  more  fundamen- 
tally disheartening,  than  the  maxim  of  Les- 
sing  which  so  many  have  admired,  accord- 
ing to  which  endless  effort  after  truth  is  to 
be  preferred  to  the  possession  of  the  truth. 
One  might  as  well  say  that  endless  thirst, 
or  endless  cold,  was  more  acceptable  than 
the  finding  of  a  refreshing  fountain  or  the 
warmth  of  the  quickening  sun. 

Here  then,  in  this  attitude  of  life,  removed 
from  religious  or  philosophical  restlessness, 
is  the  path  to  continuous  inward  peace  and 
power.  It  leads,  first  of  all,  to  humility  and 
to  freedom  from  self-complacency.  It  is  pos- 
sible to  hold  to  this  path  through  the  midst 

39 


of  all  natural  ills;  it  is  the  best  way  that  life 
has  to  offer.  What  the  happiness  is  which 
one  then  finds  is  hard  to  communicate  to  an- 
other. It  comes  of  ceasing  to  think  first  of  all 
of  oneself.  It  has,  as  Rothe  says,  "no  private 
business  to  transact."  It  does  its  work  tran- 
quilly, with  absolute  certainty  that,  though 
the  issue  of  its  work  may  be  unrecognized, 
still  it  is  secure.  This  way  of  life  brings  with 
it  courage,  and  this  courage  manifests  itself, 
not  in  feverish  excitement,  but  in  an  out- 
ward habit  of  composure  which  testifies  to 
inward  and  central  stability.  Such  a  life  trusts 
its  way  and  its  destiny.  Outward  experiences 
and  the  judgments  of  other  men  have  no 
power  to  move  it.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  essential 
that  in  the  education  of  youth  these  truths 
should  be  urgently  pressed,  for  they  may 
easily  appear  visionary  and  in  such  a  mat- 
ter all  appearance  of  obscurity  and  unreality 
is  to  be  deplored.  God  permits  only  high- 
minded  souls,  like  von  Klinger,  fully  to  at- 
tain this  way  of  life. 

We  need  not  discuss  whether  all  this 
should  be  called  idealism — a  name  which 
would  drive  many  clever  people  from  its  ac- 
ceptance. Whatever  it  may  be  named,  it  is  a 
faith  which  has  brought  to  those  who  have 
confidently  given  themselves  to  it  greater  in- 
ward peace  than  is  found  in  any  more  familiar 
40 


creed.  It  needs  but  slight  observation  of  life 
or  of  history  to  be  convinced  of  this.  And 
yet,  I  fear,  most  of  my  readers  may  be  more 
inclined  to  say  with  King  Agrippa:  "Almost 
thou  persuadest  me,"  little  as  Agrippa  prof- 
ited by  the  success  he  attained. 

A  German  poet  sums  up  the  richness 
of  this  spiritual  peace,  which  men  like  von 
Klinger  exhibit,  in  lines  which  I  thus  slightly 
adapt: 

"  Outward  life  is  light  and  shadow. 
Mingled  wrong  and  struggling  right. 
But  within  the  outward  trouble 
Shines  a  healing,  inward  light. 

Not  to  us  may  come  fulfilment, 
Not  below  our  struggles  cease, 
Yet  the  heavenly  vision  gives  us, 
Even  here,  an  inward  peace" 


III.  GOOD  HABITS 


III.  GOOD  HABITS 


HE  most  important  experi- 
ence which,  sooner  or  later, 
meets  every  thoughtful  per- 
son, both  in  his  own  intel- 
lectual development  and  in 
his  observation  of  others,  is 
this, — that  every  act,  and, 
indeed,  every  definite  thought,  leaves  behind 
it  an  inclination  which  is  like  a  material  in- 
fluence, and  which  makes  the  next  similar 
thought,  or  act,  easier,  and  the  next  dissimi- 
lar thought,  or  act,  more  difficult.  This  is  the 
curse  of  evil  conduct, — that  it  ever  brings 
forth  more  evil  conduct;  and  this  too  is  the 
sure  and  chief  reward  of  good  conduct, — 
that  it  strengthens  the  tendency  to  good 
and  makes  permanent  what  has  been  gained. 
Here  is  the  solemn  and  tragic  fact  which  lies 
behind  all  human  life, — that  what  we  have 
once  done  we  can  never  change.  There  it 
remains,  just  as  it  happened,  little  as  we  may 
be  inclined  to  believe,  or  to  admit,  that  it 
is  there.  And  hence  it  is  that  history  truly 
written  is  no  entertaining  drama,  ending  in 
general  reconciliation  and  embrace,  but  a 
tragedy  which  describes  the  movement  of 
destiny. 

If,  then,  one  begins  thus  to  take  life  se- 
riously, he  will  soon  observe  that  its  main 

45 


problem  does  not  concern  its  thought  or 
its  faith,  still  less  any  outward  confession 
which  may  leave  the  soul  within  quite  undis- 
turbed. The  real  problem  of  life  is  simply 
and  solely  one  of  habit,  and  the  end  of  all 
education  should  be  to  train  people  to  incli- 
nations toward  good.  To  choose  discreetly 
between  good  and  evil  is  not  always  prac- 
ticable, for  human  passions  are  sometimes 
too  strong;  but  what  may  be  developed  is 
a  prompt  and  spontaneous  instinct  for  the 
good;  and  the  ideal  of  human  life  is  one 
in  which  all  that  is  good  has  become  sheer 
habit,  and  all  that  is  bad  is  so  contrary  to 
nature,  that  it  gives  one  even  a  physically 
perceptible  and  painful  shock.  Failing  this, 
all  that  one  calls  virtue  or  piety  is  but  a 
series  of  those  good  intentions  with  which 
the  path  to  evil,  as  to  good,  may  be  paved. 

What,  then,  are  the  most  important  of 
good  habits?  I  propose  to  name  a  few,  not 
in  any  systematic  fashion;  for  of  systems  of 
morals  the  modern  world  seems  to  have  had 
more  than  enough,  and  it  is  much  more  likely 
to  give  some  attention  to  purely  practical 
suggestions  based  on  practical  experience. 

The  first  and  chief  rule  seems  to  be  this, 

— that  one  should  try  rather  to  cultivate 

good  habits  than  merely  negatively  to  escape 

from  bad  ones.  It  is  much  easier  in  the  inner 

46 


life,  as  in  the  outer,  to  attack  positively  than 
to  repel  defensively;  for  in  aggressive  con- 
dud:  every  success  brings  joy,  while  in  mere 
resistance  much  of  one's  effort  seems  to  have 
no  positive  result.  The  main  point  to  be 
gained  is  the  habit  of  prompt  resolution, 
directed  immediately  toward  action.  What 
Voltaire  said  of  the  history  of  nations  is  in 
large  degree  true  of  human  life:  "I  have 
noticed  that  destiny  in  every  case  depends 
upon  the  act  of  a  moment." 

The  second  principle  of  good  habits  is 
fearlessness.  Perhaps  this  is  not  possible  to 
acquire  in  a  high  degree  without  a  strong  re- 
ligious faith.  This  I  will  not  discuss.  It  is,  at 
any  rate,  certain  that  fear  is  not  only  the 
least  agreeable  of  human  emotions,  so  that 
one  should  at  any  cost  conquer  it,  but  that 
it  is  also  the  most  superfluous.  For  fear  does 
not  prevent  the  approach  of  that  which  is 
feared;  it  only  exhausts  beforehand  the 
strength  which  one  needs  to  meet  the  thing 
he  fears.  Most  of  the  things  which  we  fear 
to  meet  are  not  in  reality  so  terrible  as  they 
appear  to  be  when  looked  at  from  afar.  When 
they  meet  us,  they  can  be  borne.  The  imagi- 
nation is  inclined  to  picture  evils  as  more 
permanent  and  persistent  than  they  are  really 
to  be.  If,  as  one's  trouble  approached,  he 
should  say  to  himself:  "This  is  likely  to  last 

47 


about  three  days,"  one  would  in  many  cases 
be  justified  by  the  event,  and,  at  any  rate, 
would  proceed  to  meet  the  trouble  with  a 
better  courage.  On  the  whole,  the  best  de- 
fence against  fear  which  philosophy  can  pro- 
vide is  the  conviction  that  every  fear  is  a 
symptom  of  some  wrong  condition  in  our- 
selves. If  one  search  for  that  weakness  and 
rid  himself  of  it,  then,  for  the  most  part,  fear 
will  vanish  also. 

Beyond  this  philosophical  defence  from 
fear,  however,  lie  certain  spiritual  conditions 
of  courage.  The  chief  of  these  is  determining 
for  oneself  what  are  the  best  blessings  of  life. 
First  of  all,  one  must  acquire  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible the  habit  of  preferring  the  better  things 
to  the  worse.  He  must  especially  abandon 
the  expectation  of  possessing  at  the  same 
time  different  things  which  are  contradic- 
tory of  each  other.  Here  is  the  secret  of  fail- 
ure in  many  a  career.  In  my  opinion,  a  man 
may  not  only  freely  choose  his  aims  in  life, 
but  he  may  attain  all  those  aims  which  he 
seriously  and  wholly  desires,  provided  that 
for  the  sake  of  this  desire  he  is  ready  to  sur- 
render all  other  desires  which  are  inconsist- 
ent with  it.  The  best  possessions  one  can 
have  in  life,  and  the  things  which,  with  rea- 
sonable sagacity,  are  the  easiest  to  get,  are 
these :  firm  moral  principles,  intellectual  dis- 
48 


cipline,  love,  loyalty,  the  capacity  for  work 
and  the  enjoyment  of  it,  spiritual  and  physi- 
cal health,  and  very  moderate  worldly  pos- 
sessions. No  other  blessings  can  be  compared 
with  these,  and  some  other  possessions  are 
inconsistent  with  these — for  instance,  great 
wealth,  great  worldly  honor  and  power,  ha- 
bitual self-indulgence.  These  are  the  things 
which  people  commonly  most  desire,  and 
which  they  very  often  attain,  but  they  must 
always  be  attained  through  the  surrender  of 
the  better  things. 

One  must,  therefore,promptlyandunhes- 
itatingly  determine  to  surrender  the  desire 
for  wealth,  honor,  and  luxury,  and  to  take 
in  their  place  other  possessions.  Without 
this  determination,  there  can  be  no  religious 
or  philosophical  basis  of  spiritual  education. 
What  seems  to  be  spiritual  development 
ends  in  unreality,  vacillation,  at  last  hypo- 
crisy. It  must  be  confessed  that  even  the 
best  of  men  are,  as  a  rule,  but  half-hearted  in 
making  this  fundamental  resolution.  They 
give  up  under  compulsion  one  or  another 
fragment  of  their  desires.  Few  are  sagacious 
enough  to  foresee  the  choice  which  sooner 
or  later  must  be  made,  and  free  themselves 
while  they  are  still  young  from  their  pro- 
longed perplexity  by  one  quick  and  sublime 
decision. 

49 


A  further  obstacle  to  any  worthy  life  is  the 
desire  for  praise,  or  for  pleasure.  The  man 
who  is  dominated  by  either  of  these  motives 
is  simply  a  slave  of  the  opinions  or  tastes  of 
others.  Both  of  these  desires  must  be,  with- 
out compromise,  expelled,  and  sympathy, 
which  one  has  always  at  his  command,  must 
take  their  place.  For,  if  the  lower  desires 
have  been  cast  out  and  no  higher  impulses 
enter,  then  we  have  simply  an  unendurable 
emptiness  in  life. "  When  the  unclean  spirit," 
says  the  Gospel,  "is  gone  out  of  a  man,  he 
walketh  through  dry  places,  seeking  rest,  and 
findeth  none.  .  .  .  Then  goeth  he,  and  tak- 
eth  with  himself  seven  other  spirits  more 
wicked  than  himself,  and  they  enter  in  and 
dwell  there:  and  the  last  state  of  that  man 
is  worse  than  the  first." 

Thus,  at  any  cost,  and  even  for  the  sake 
of  one's  own  soul,  one  must  make  it  his 
habit  to  cultivate  love  for  others,  not  first  of 
all  inquiring  whether  they  deserve  that  love 
or  not — a  question  which  is  often  too  hard 
to  answer.  For  without  love  life  is  without 
joy,  especially  when  one  has  outgrown  his 
youth.  Lacking  love,  we  sink  into  indiffer- 
ence, and  indifference  passes  easily  into  aver- 
sion, and  one's  aversions  so  poison  life  that 
life  is  no  better  than  death. 

Further,  our  dislikes  must  be  directed, 
50 


not  against  people,  but  against  things.  Good 
and  evil  are  too  much  mingled  in  persons 
to  be  justly  distinguished,  and  each  unjust 
judgment  reads  upon  those  who  have  per- 
mitted themselves  to  be  unjust  and  embitters 
their  lives.  Therefore,  permit  neither  your 
philosophy  nor  your  experience  to  crowd  out 
of  your  life  the  power  to  love.  Dismiss  the 
preliminary  question  of  another's  right  to  be 
loved.  Love  is  the  only  way  of  keeping  one's 
inner  life  in  peace,  and  of  maintaining  an  in- 
terest in  people  and  in  things.  Without  it, 
both  people  and  things  become  by  degrees 
an  annoyance  and  affront.  Thus  love  is,  at 
the  same  time,  the  highest  worldly  wisdom. 
One  who  loves  is  always,  though  uncon- 
sciously, wiser  than  one  who  does  not.  If  you 
incline  to  say  with  the  poet: 

"  This  is  my  creed  and  this  will  ever  be^ 
To  love  and  hate  as  others  may  treat  me!" 

live  for  a  while  by  this  creed,  and  you  will 
learn  soon  enough  how  much  of  hate  and 
how  little  of  love  you  are  likely  to  receive. 
I  n  all  the  points  thus  far  indicated,  and  es- 
pecially in  the  last,  there  is  no  place  for  half- 
way conduct.  There  must  be  a  complete  and 
absolute  decision,  with  no  petty  and  clever 
computations  of  consequences.  And  in  ad- 
dition to  these  more  decisive  rules  of  habit, 


there  are  many  smaller  ones  which  go  to  re- 
inforce and  make  practicable  the  larger  prin- 
ciples. For  instance,  there  is  the  Gospel  com- 
mand : "  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead."  The 
dead  are  the  best  people  to  do  this  work.  If 
one  refrain  from  controversy  about  what  is 
past  and  gone,  then  one  may  give  himself  to 
tasks  of  positive  construclion,and  not  merely 
to  that  destructive  work  which,  even  if  it  be 
essential,  should  be  subordinate.  Many  a  me- 
morial has  been  dedicated  to  those  who  de- 
stroy which  should  have  been  reserved  for 
those  who  fulfil. 

And  yet,  one  must  not  let  himself  be 
cheated.  He  must  not  even  be  thought  to 
be  easily  duped.  He  must  let  the  would- 
be  clever  people  know  that  he  reads  their 
thoughts  and  knows  what  they  are  seeking. 
One  may,  as  I  have  already  said,  read  such 
thoughts  quite  thoroughly  if  one  be  no  longer 
blinded  by  any  selfishness  of  his  own. 

Apart  from  this  degree  of  self-defence, 
which  is  so  far  necessary,  the  better  plan  in 
general  is  to  see  the  good  side  of  people  and 
to  take  for  granted  that  there  is  good  in  them. 
Then  it  not  only  happens  that  they  often 
make  the  effort  to  be  good  and  become  ac- 
tually better  through  one's  appreciation  of 
them,  but  it  also  happens  that  one  is  saved 
from  a  personal  experience  of  regret  or  dis- 
52 


tress.  For  intercourse  with  persons  whom 
one  recognizes  as  bad,  demoralizes  one's 
own  nature,  and  in  the  case  of  sensitive  per- 
sons may  go  so  far  as  to  have  even  a  physi- 
cal effect.  What  is  bad  needs  no  severity  of 
criticism  or  of  reproach.  In  most  cases  it 
needs  only  to  be  brought  to  the  light.  Then, 
even  if  the  man  protest  that  he  is  not  bad, 
his  conscience  judges  him.  Therefore,  when 
one  must  blame  others,  he  should  proceed 
with  great  calmness,  speak  of  the  matter 
without  disguise  and  without  glossing,  but 
simply  and  without  passion.  Passionate  re- 
proaches seldom  do  good,  and  good  people 
who  lack  sympathy  are  apt  to  be  very  trying. 
There  is  a  kind  of  virtuous  character  not  un- 
familiar in  some  Protestant  circles  which  to 
those  who  differ  from  its  convictions  seems 
to  have  no  capacity  for  love.  It  is  especially 
aggravating  to  young  people,  so  that  they 
often  prefer  the  company  of  the  vicious  to 
that  of  moral  but  cold-blooded  friends. 

Finally,  it  may  not  appear  possible  for 
you  to  be  equally  friendly  with  everybody. 
Well,  then,  discriminate  among  people,  but 
always  in  favor  of  the  humble,  the  poor,  the 
simple,  the  uneducated,  the  children,  even 
the  animals  and  plants.  Never,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  you  desire  a  quiet  mind,  seek  the 
favor  of  important  people,  and  never  expect 

53 


gratitude  for  condescension  to  the  humble, 
but  count  the  love  they  have  for  you  as  pre- 
cious as  you  do  your  love  for  them. 

There  are  many  other  of  these  lesser  in- 
stances of  good  habits  which  I  might  still 
further  mention,  and  if  my  reader  should 
recall  them,  he  is  not  to  regard  them  as  un- 
recognized by  me.  I  only  invite  him,  in  the 
first  place,  to  put  to  practical  use  my  list  as 
thus  far  suggested.  As  he  does  so,  let  him 
notice — as  he  soon  must  notice — that  it  is 
much  more  to  his  purpose  to  begin  practi- 
cally with  one  good  habit  than  to  begin  by 
making  a  complete  catalogue  of  all.  The  real 
difficulty  in  this  cultivation  of  good  habits 
— indeed  the  only  difficulty — is  in  ridding 
the  heart  of  its  natural  selfishness.  For  self- 
ishness is  the  pra6tical  obstacle  to  good  hab- 
its, though  it  may  pretend  to  believe  in  them. 
No  one  who  understands  himself  will  deny 
that  there  is  in  everyone  a  curious  tendency 
to  moral  degeneration.  It  is  often  something 
that  literally  borders  on  depravity.  Now, 
this  inclination  to  evil  is  to  be  conquered  only 
by  a  superior  force;  and  the  whole  problem, 
both  of  philosophy  and  of  religion, — a  prob- 
lem as  old  as  the  world  and  yet  new  with  each 
individual, — is  summed  up  in  the  question: 
"  Where  shall  I  find  this  superior  force  which 
shall  make  me  inclined  to  goodness  and  shall 

54 


renew  that  spiritual  health  which  is  essential 
for  the  right  conduct  of  life?" 

To  this  question,  there  are  still  given 
many  different  answers.  Dante,  in  the  famous 
twenty-seventh  canto  ofthePurgatorio,says: 

"  When  underneath  us  was  the  stairway  all 
Run  <?Vr,  and  we  were  on  the  highest  stepy 
yirgilius  fastened  upon  me  his  eyes, 
And  said: 

By  intelleft  and  art  I  here  have  brought  thee"  2 

By  the  guidance  of  reason,  then,  the  travel- 
ler has  been  led  to  the  Holy  Mountain, 
where  at  last  he  hears  his  guide  say: 

"  Take  thine  own  pleasure  for  thy  guide  henceforth; 
Beyond  the  steep  ways  and  the  narrow  art  thou." 

And  yet — and  here  we  notice  a  marked  in- 
consistency in  the  great  mediaeval  poet  and 
philosopher — it  is  an  angel  who  bears  these 
mortal  souls  across  the  sea  and  brings  them 
to  the  foot  of  this  mountain,  and  another 
angel  repeatedly  restrains  them  from  re- 
turning on  their  way,  even  when  they  have 
passed  the  Gate  of  Grace;  and  by  the  dia- 
mond threshold,  beyond  which  none  may 
pass  without  his  bidding,  sits  a  third  angel, 
to  whom  one  may  approach  only  by  a  miracle 
of  God's  grace.  In  all  this  journey,  then, 
the  "intellect  and  art"  which  accompany 

55 


the  traveller  play,  we  must  confess,  a  very 
limited  role. 

This  great  question,  however,  of  the  moral 
dynamic  is,  for  the  moment,  not  my  theme, 
and  its  answer  is,  I  doubt  not,  to  be  finally 
reached  only  by  the  way  of  personal  experi- 
ence. Only  this  is  to  be  said,  once  more,  that 
one's  self-discipline  begins  with  the  disci- 
pline of  the  will.  First  of  all  comes  the  defi- 
nite resolution  to  pursue  one  worthy  end 
of  life  with  singleness  of  mind  and  to  turn 
from  all  that  is  opposed  to  it.  Given  this 
decision  of  the  will,  and  there  follows  the 
capacity  to  aft.  And  this  search  is  not  in  vain, 
when  one  determines  to  make  it  a  universal 
and  an  unreserved  search,  and  to  recognize 
the  power  that  is  attained  as  the  only  possible 
proof  that  the  right  way  has  been  found. 
Whatever  brings  with  it  no  sense  of  sup- 
porting, calming,  ethical  power  is  not  true, 
and  whatever  does  contribute  this  power 
must,  at  least,  have  some  degree  of  truth  in 
it.  In  the  future,  any  philosophy  of  life  which 
proposes  to  be  more  effective  than  our  pres- 
ent philosophy  must  meet  this  test.  All  else 
leads  astray. 

"  Why  is  it  that  we  shrink  away 
When  death)  our  friend^  draws  near  some  day? 
We  see  the  shadowy  presence  stand) 
But  not  the  gift  within  the  hand! 

56 


So  shrinks  from  love  the  human  heart 
As  though,  like  death,  love  came  to  party 
For  where  love  enters,  self  must  die 
And  life  find  love  its  destiny. 
O  death  of  self  !  Pass  like  the  night, 
And  waken  us  from  death  to  light!" 


57 


IV.  THE  CHILDREN  OF  THIS 
WORLD  ARE  WISER  THAN  THE 
CHILDREN  OF  LIGHT 


IV.  THE  CHILDREN  OF  THIS 
WORLD  ARE  WISER  THAN  THE 
CHILDREN  OF  LIGHT 

DO  not  question  the  truth 
of  this  text,  but  I  cannot 
fail  to  observe  in  it  the  most 
familiar  defence  of  worldly 
wisdom  against  the  spirit 
of  idealism.  The  objection 
to  idealism  which  we  most 
commonly  hear  is  this,  that  it  is  well  enough 
in  theory,  but  that  it  does  not  work  in  prac- 
tice; and  if  it  be  really  true  that  worldly  wis- 
dom and  idealism  are  irreconcilable,  then 
most  people  must  hold  to  the  first.  They 
have  to  live  on  this  earth,  and  to  deal  with 
life  as  it  is;  they  must  accept  the  inevitable, 
even  though  it  costs  them  a  moment  of 
deep  regret  to  abandon  their  idealism.  This 
world  calls  for  worldly  wisdom;  another 
world  may  be  blessed  with  light — on  this 
stone  of  stumbling  many  a  life  which  has 
already  overcome  the  common  temptation 
of  selfishness  is  still  wrecked  and  lost. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us,  then,  in  this 
dangerous  text  is  its  high  appreciation  ofwhat 
it  calls  the  children  of  this  world.  Indeed, 
these  people  are  never  so  severely  handled  by 
Christ  as  are  the  priests  and  the  devout  Phari- 
sees of  his  time.  Such  sayings  as : "  The  pub- 

61 


licans  and  the  harlots  go  into  the  kingdom  of 
God  before  you,"  are  not  uttered  against  the 
children  of  this  world.  The  children  of  this 
world  know  what  they  want  and  pursue  the 
end  they  set  before  themselves  with  energy 
and  persistence,  putting  away  all  that  stands 
between  them  and  it;  and  this  the  children 
of  light,  at  least  in  their  earlier  stages  of  de- 
velopment, seldom  do.  Still  further,  the  chil- 
dren of  this  world  are  not  wholly  impervious 
to  the  higher  motives  of  life.  Their  hearts  are 
not  the  rock  where  the  good  seed  falls  in  vain. 
They  are  merely  the  soil  which  is  choked  by 
other  growth,  where  the  seed  takes  root  but 
cannot  prosper.  The  children  of  this  world 
may  at  any  rate  claim  that  it  is  not  they  who 
have  built  the  crosses  and  scaffolds  for  the 
servants  of  the  truth. 

We  must  not  then  think  of  the  children 
of  this  world  as  absolutely  bad  or  as  unap- 
preciative  of  the  excellent.  On  the  contrary, 
they  are  generally  better  than  they  pretend 
to  be,  and  among  them  are  many  persons 
who  are,  as  it  were,  hypocrites  reversed ;  who 
conceal,  that  is  to  say,  their  best  thoughts. 
What  they  lack  is  commonly  the  courage  to 
be  good.  They  do  not  have  a  sufficiently  sub- 
stantial confidence  in  the  moral  order  of  the 
world  to  guide  them  in  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence. And,  in  fad:,  this  assurance  of  the  moral 
62 


order  does  not  at  first  sight  appear  to  be  jus- 
tified. On  the  contrary,  one  who  deserts  the 
wisdom  of  the  world  must  anticipate,  first  of 
all,  that  he  will  be  deserted  by  the  world  and 
that  he  will  not  improbably  pass  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  in  uncertainty  whether  he 
has  chosen  the  better  path.  Such  is  the  testi- 
mony of  all  who  have  practically  followed 
this  path  and  have  not  merely  heard  of  it  or 
preached  about  it.  Thus,  the  children  of  this 
world  are  simply  the  people  who  prefer  to 
travel  the  common  and  well-known  road. 
The  unfamiliar  path  may  appear  to  them  in 
theory  very  beautiful  and  sublime,  but  they 
do  not  find  it  a  practicable  path  to  follow. 

It  is  still  more  difficult  to  say  who  are  the 
children  of  light.  It  is  true  that  the  Gospels 
sometimes  mention  them,  but  what  is  the 
meaning  of  the  light  of  which  the  Gospels 
speak?  Whence  comes  it,  and  how  does  it 
shine  into  the  life  of  men?  Here  we  touch 
at  once  the  greatest  of  human  problems. 
Whence  come  we  ?  Whither  do  we  go  ?  What 
is  our  destiny?  All  that  can  be  said  in  plain 
words  of  the  children  of  light  is  this:  that 
they  are  seeking  that  which  is  beyond  real- 
ity, and  are  receptive  to  the  suggestions  of 
the  ideal  world.  The  children  of  light  are 
those  who  supremely  desire  something  bet- 
ter than  to  eat  and  drink  and  to-morrow  die. 


This  is  the  motive  which  most  stirs  their 
hearts  and  wills,  and  out  of  this  desire  comes 
to  them  by  degrees,  first,  faith,  and  then  con- 
viction. 

This  way  to  the  light  is  in  a  certain  de- 
gree indicated  in  the  Gospel  of  Matthew: 
"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart :  for  they  shall 
see  God";  and  it  is  more  precisely  described 
in  the  Gospel  of  Luke:  "If  thy  whole  body 
be  full  of  light,  the  whole  shall  be  full  of 
light" — a  passage  whose  exact  meaning  no 
one  has  clearly  determined.  Beyond  such 
evidence  as  this  one  can  hardly  go;  for,  if 
we  do,  the  children  of  this  world,  who  know 
nothing  of  such  experiences  and  regard  them 
as  extravagances  or  worse,  will  at  the  best 
turn  away  like  Felix  and  the  Athenians,  say- 
ing: "We  will  hear  thee  again  of  this  mat- 
ter"; having  no  more  inclination  than  Felix 
to  be  further  drawn  into  such  disturbing  and 
unprofitable  discussions.  The  dreams  of  the 
children  of  light,  they  will  say,  lead  to  noth- 
ing and  had  better  be  forgotten. 

It  must  be  sadly  confessed  that  a  great 
part  of  religious  instruction  has  been  singu- 
larly unfruitful.  Indeed,  religion  cannot  be 
imparted  by  instruction.  It  assumes  not  only 
a  faith  in  that  which  is  beyond  the  world  of 
knowledge,  but  also  a  faith  in  the  teachers 
of  religion.  The  teachers  of  religion,  there- 
64 


fore,  can,  at  the  best,  only  produce  in  one  a 
kind  of  mental  disposition.  They  can  free 
the  mind  from  disinclination  to  their  view 
or  from  positive  incapacity  to  share  it,  and 
they  can  fortify  conviction  by  their  teach- 
ing. This  limitation  in  religious  instruction 
has  more  than  one  cause.  It  sometimes  hap- 
pens because  the  hearer's  way  of  life  is  in- 
consistent with  idealism.  It  is  also,  and  quite 
as  often,  caused  by  a  false  definition  of  re- 
ligion—  the  notion  that  religion  is  a  matter 
of  doctrine,  a  kind  of  science  which  can  be 
taught  and  learned. 

Wherein,  then,  it  will  be  asked,  lies  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  wisdom  of  the  light  over  the 
wisdom  of  this  world?  Surely,  the  wisdom 
of  the  world  is  a  more  obvious  possession, 
and  guarantees  to  us  more  of  the  good  things 
of  life  than  the  children  of  light  can  secure. 
The  advantage  of  the  children  of  light,  I 
answer,  is  threefold.  It  is  to  be  found,  first, 
in  the  assurance  that  they  are  the  possessors 
of  truth  and  are  made  thereby  inwardly  and 
wholly  at  peace.  Lessing,  in  his  well-known 
words,  announced  that  truth  was  not  a  thing 
which  men  should  desire  to  possess.  Hap- 
piness, he  conceived,  was  to  be  found  in  the 
search  for  truth,  not  in  its  possession.  But 
the  possession  of  the  truth  brings  with  it  the 
only  true  happiness — a  happiness  which  is 

65 


abundant  and  unspeakable,  and  which  no 
man  who  has  in  any  degree  obtained  it  would 
exchange  for  all  the  other  good  things  of 
earth.  For  the  fundamental  question  is  not 
of  possessing  any  definite  outward  thing,  but 
of  the  inward  happiness  attained  through 
that  possession.  Even  the  selfish,  the  en- 
vious, and  the  self-indulgent  do  not  regard 
that  which  they  want  to  possess  as  their  real 
aim.  It  is  only  in  their  eyes  the  essential 
means  to  the  real  end,  and  that  end  is  their 
own  inward  happiness.  And  this  is  precisely 
where  they  are  self-deceived.  For  there  is  this 
solemn  fact  about  the  order  of  the  world, 
which  reveals  itself  to  every  candid  observer, 
—  that  such  people  may  attain  all  that  they 
earnestly  desire,  yet  not  attain  with  it  their 
own  peace.  Their  attainment  itself,  their  very 
success,  becomes  their  punishment.  All  this 
may  be  perhaps  somewhat  hard  to  under- 
stand, but  for  the  moment  it  may  be  accepted 
merely  as  a  working  hypothesis,  and  one  may 
later  observe  in  life  whether  it  is  not  true.  It 
is  by  using  thus  a  working  hypothesis  that 
even  natural  science  most  easily  reaches  the 
truth. 

The  second  advantage  which  the  spirit 

of  the  truth,  as  we  may  paraphrase  it,  has 

over  the  wisdom  of  this  world  is  this :  that 

when  brought  to  the  test  it  is  in  reality  much 

66 


wiser  than  worldly  wisdom.  Nothing  but 
the  wisdom  of  the  children  of  light  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  real  laws  of  theuniverse.  That 
is  the  reason  why  these  seemingly  unwise 
persons  still  for  the  most  part  pass  through 
the  experiences  of  life  with  less  trouble  and 
harm  than  the  wise  of  this  world.  The  con- 
sciences of  the  children  of  light  are  undis- 
turbed, and  a  troubled  conscience  embit- 
ters the  best  joys.  They  pass  through  life 
also  with  much  less  hurry,  worry,  and  fear, 
both  of  people  and  of  events.  None  of  these 
distresses  of  life  is  to  be  escaped  except 
through  this  frame  of  mind.  Finally,  they 
live  more  peacefully — not  only  in  their 
own  hearts,  but  also  with  other  people — 
because  they  live  without  the  passions,  ha- 
treds, and  jealousies  which  make  life  hard 
to  endure.  Even  those  who  do  not  desire 
for  themselves  this  habit  of  mind,  and  are 
not  indeed  capable  of  it,  as  soon  as  they  are 
convinced  that  the  children  of  light  mean 
what  they  seem,  that  their  attitude  is  not 
merely  a  cloak  to  cover  the  wisdom  of  the 
world,  and  that  they  are  not  vain  and  super- 
cilious, grow  more  attached  to  these  "Ideal- 
ists" than  to  people  like  themselves.  The 
affection  which  goes  out  toward  such  per- 
sons is  quite  beyond  parallel.  It  is  the  rever- 
ence, for  instance,  felt  toward  characters  like 

67 


Nicolaus  von  Flue,  or  Francis  of  Assisi, 
or  Catherine  of  Siena,  or  in  our  own  time 
Gordon  Pasha.  Thousands,  for  example,  in 
all  lands  deeply  lamented  General  Gordon's 
death  and  felt  it  to  be  a  national  disaster, 
although  they  had  not  the  least  notion  of 
following  his  life.  It  is  a  form  of  sentiment 
which  the  most  distinguished  and  most  suc- 
cessful political  ruler  of  our  own  time  does 
not  inspire.  Persons  like  these,  just  because 
they  have  denied  themselves  what  seem  to 
others  the  good  things  of  life  and  have  aban- 
doned the  competition  for  them,  have  be- 
come the  true  rulers  of  their  people  and  the 
heroes  of  humanity.  Truth,  happiness,  free- 
dom from  fear  and  care,  peace  with  oneself 
and  with  all  men,  the  sincere  respect  and  af- 
fection of  all, — one  would  think  that  these 
might  be  recognized  as  beyond  a  doubt  the 
good  things  of  life,  compared  with  which 
the  accumulation  of  wealth,  the  increase  of 
honor,  and  the  resources  of  luxury  have  no 
weight  or  significance.  Indeed,  the  blessings 
of  the  children  of  light  would  outweigh  the 
rewards  of  worldly  wisdom,  even  if  these  re- 
wards could  be  attained  with  certainty  and 
without  the  bitterness,  anxiety,  and  rivalry 
which  inevitably  accompany  them. 

Lastly,  these  ideal  possessions  have  this 
further  advantage, — that  when   attained, 
68 


they  are  secure;  and  that  they  are  within  any 
one's  power  to  attain.  One  need  only  desire 
them  seriously  and  wholly,  and  cease  from  a 
hesi  tating  dependence  on  the  wisdom  and  the 
successes  of  this  world,  and  then,  as  many 
witnesses  will  testify  from  their  own  experi- 
ence, the  blessings  of  the  children  of  light 
are  surely  attained.  It  may  not  be  through 
one  effort.  Indeed,  in  most  cases,  it  only 
happens  after  one  or  more  crises  in  one's  life 
— crises  which  are  in  fact  not  unlike  death 
itself,  and  in  which  a  man  renounces  all  his 
early  hopes.  In  such  a  crisis,  however,  the 
worst  of  the  way  of  light  is  passed.  In  every- 
thing else  it  is  a  much  easier  and  more  agree- 
able way  than  the  worldly  way,  and  one  is 
sure  to  meet  much  better  company. 

Christ  has  compared  his  way  of  life  to 
the  bearing  of  a  yoke,  and  indeed  it  always 
is  a  yoke;  but  compared  with  other  ways  of 
life,  it  is  a  much  easier  and  lighter  yoke. 
That  is  the  testimony  of  all,  without  excep- 
tion, who  have  ever  borne  that  yoke,  and 
not  one  single  person  has  ever  been  found 
who,  at  the  end  of  such  a  life,  whatever  may 
have  been  its  outward  circumstances,  has 
looked  back  upon  it  with  regret,  or  has  con- 
fessed that  the  way  of  the  world  was  better 
and  happier.  On  the  other  hand,  how  many 
there  have  been  since  the  days  of  King  Solo- 

69 


mon  who  have  come  to  the  end  of  a  life 
which,  to  the  wisdom  of  this  world,  seemed 
successful  and  free,  and  have  found  it  only 
"vanity  of  vanities." 

One  would  think  that  this  single  fad: 
of  human  experience  would  be  decisive.  It 
fails  of  its  effed  only,  as  we  know,  because 
the  lower  wisdom  withholds  one  from  that 
higher  wisdom  which  ventures  the  larger 
gain  for  the  higher  stake.  Yet,  I  will  not  re- 
proach those  who  follow  the  lower  wisdom. 
I  simply  leave  it  to  the  reader's  own  reflec- 
tion to  decide  whether,  on  weighing  the  case 
as  he  best  can,  and  considering  the  conditions 
in  which  human  life  is  ordinarily  placed,  he 
will  do  better  to  choose  the  lower  or  the 
higher  way.  For,  after  all,  the  most  foolish 
people  are  beyond  question  those  who  fol- 
low this  pilgrimage  of  life  for  seventy  or 
eighty  years  without  ever  clearly  deciding 
whether  to  choose  the  wisdom  of  this  world 
or  the  wisdom  of  light;  and  to  this  class  of 
foolish  persons,  who,  for  the  most  part,  ac- 
complish nothing  in  the  world,  belong,  cu- 
riously enough,  a  very  considerable  number 
of  what  we  call  the  cultivated  people  of  our 
day. 


70 


V.  THE  ART  OF  HAVING  TIME 


V.  THE  ART  OF  HAVING  TIME 
HAVE  no  time, — that  is 
not  only  the  most  familiar 
and  convenient  excuse  for 
not  doing  one's  duty;  it 
is  also,  one  must  confess, 
the  excuse  which  has  in  it 
the  greatest  appearance  of 
truth.  Is  it  a  good  excuse?  I  must  at  once 
admit  that  within  certain  limits  the  excuse 
is  reasonable,  but  I  shall  try  to  show  how  it 
is  that  this  lack  of  time  occurs,  and  how  one 
may,  at  least  in  some  degree,  find  the  time 
he  needs.  Thus  my  sermon  differs  from  those 
of  the  preachers,  in  having,  not  three  heads, 
but  only  two.  This  I  say  to  propitiate  those 
who  may  protest  that  they  have  no  time  for 
reading. 

The  most  immediate  reason,  then,  for  lack 
of  time  is  to  be  found  in  the  character  of 
the  present  age.  There  is  just  now  a  prevail- 
ing restlessness,  aftid  a  continuous  mood  of 
excitement,  from  which,  unless  one  make 
himself  a  hermit,  he  cannot  wholly  escape. 
One  who  lives  at  all  in  these  days  must  live 
fast.  If  one  could  observe  the  modern  world 
as  a  bird  might  look  down  upon  it,  and  at 
the  same  time  could  distinguish  the  details 
of  its  life,  he  would  see  beneath  him  a  pic- 
ture like  that  of  a  restless  and  swarming  ant- 

73 


hill,  where  even  the  railway  trains,  as  they 
cross  and  recross  each  other  by  night  and 
day,  would  be  enough  to  bewilder  his  brain. 
Something  of  this  bewilderment  is,  in  fact, 
felt  by  almost  every  one  who  is  involved  in 
the  movement  of  the  time.  There  are  a  great 
many  people  who  have  not  the  least  idea 
why  they  are  thus  all  day  long  in  a  hurry. Peo- 
ple whose  circumstances  permit  complete 
leisure  are  to  be  seen  rushing  through  the 
streets,  or  whirling  away  in  a  train,  or  crowd- 
ing out  of  the  theatre,  as  if  there  were  await- 
ing them  at  home  the  most  serious  tasks. 
The  fact  is  that  they  simply  yield  to  the  gen- 
eral movement.  One  might  be  led  to  fancy 
that  the  most  precious  and  most  unusual 
possession  on  earth  was  the  possession  of 
time.  We  say  that  time  is  money,  yet  people 
who  have  plenty  of  money  seem  to  have 
no  time;  and  even  the  people  who  despise 
money  are  constantly  admonishing  us,  and 
our  over-worked  children,  to  remember  the 
Apostle's  saying, and  "to redeem  the  time." 
Thus  the  modern  world  seems  pitiless  in 
its  exhortation  to  work.  Human  beings  are 
driven  like  horses  until  they  drop.  Many 
lives  are  ruined  by  the  pace,  but  there  are 
always  more  lives  ready  like  horses  to  be 
driven. 

Yet  the  results  of  this  restless  haste  are 

74 


in  the  main  not  convincing.  There  have  been 
periods  in  history  when  people,  without 
the  restlessness  and  fatigue  that  now  pre- 
vail, accomplished  far  more  in  many  forms 
of  human  activity  than  men  achieve  to-day. 
Where  are  we  now  to  find  a  man  like  Luther, 
who  could  write  his  incomparable  transla- 
tion of  the  Bible  in  an  incredibly  brief  space 
of  time,  and  yet  not  break  down  at  the  end 
of  the  task,  or  be  forced  to  spend  months  or 
years  in  recreation  or  vacation?  Where  are 
the  scholars  whose  works  fill  thousands  of 
volumes,  or  the  artists  like  Michael  Angelo 
and  Raphael,  who  could  be  at  once  painters, 
architects,  sculptors  and  poets?  Where  shall 
we  find  a  man  like  Titian,  who  at  ninety 
years  of  age  could  still  do  his  work  with- 
out the  necessity  of  retiring  each  year  to  a 
summer  resort  or  sanitarium?  The  fact  is 
that  the  nervous  haste  of  our  day  cannot  be 
wholly  explained  by  assuming  that  modern 
men  do  more  work,  or  better  work,  than 
their  predecessors.  It  must  be  possible  to 
live,  if  not  without  perfect  rest,  still  without 
haste,  and  yet  accomplish  something. 

The  first  condition  of  escape  from  this  in- 
effective haste  is,  beyond  doubt,  the  resolu- 
tion not  to  be  swept  away  by  the  prevailing 
current  of  the  age,  as  though  one  had  no  will 
of  his  own.  On  the  contrary,  one  must  op- 

75 


pose  this  current  and  determine  to  live  as  a 
free  man,  and  not  as  a  slave  either  of  work 
or  of  pleasure.  Our  present  system  of  the 
organization  of  labor  makes  this  resolution 
far  from  easy.  Indeed,  our  whole  manner 
of  thinking  about  money-making  and  our 
painstaking  provision  of  money  for  future 
generations — our  capitalist  system,  in  short 
— increase  the  difficulty.  Here  is  the  sol- 
emn background  of  our  present  question, 
with  which  I  do  not  propose  to  deal.  We  may 
simply  notice  that  the  problem  of  the  use 
of  time  is  closely  involved  with  the  problem 
of  that  radical  change  which  civilization  it- 
self must  experience  before  it  reaches  a  more 
equitable  division  of  labor  and  a  more  equi- 
table distribution  of  prosperity.  So  long  as 
there  are  people,  and  especially  educated 
people,  who  work  only  when  they  are  forced 
to  work  and  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
free  themselves  and  their  children  as  soon 
as  possible  from  the  burden  of  work;  so  long 
as  there  are  people  who  proudly  say : "  Je  suis 
d'une  famille  ou  on  n'avait  pas  de  plume 
qu'aux  chapeaux," — so  long  must  there  be 
many  people  who  have  too  little  time  simply 
because  a  few  have  too  much.  All  this,  how- 
ever, is  of  the  future.  The  only  practical 
problem  for  our  own  age  is  to  maintain  a 
sort  of  defensive  attitude  toward  our  lack 
76 


of  time,  and  to  seek  less  radical  ways  of  for- 
tifying ourselves.  Let  me  enumerate  some 
of  these  ways. 

The  best  way  of  all  to  \iave  time  is  to 
have  the  habit  of  regular  work,  not  to  work 
by  fits  and  starts,  but  in  definite  hours  of 
the  day, — though  not  of  the  night, — and  to 
work  six  days  in  the  week,  not  five  and  not 
seven.  To  turn  night  into  day  or  Sunday  into 
a  work-day  is  the  best  way  to  have  neither 
time  nor  capacity  for  work.  Even  a  vacation 
fails  of  its  purpose,  if  it  be  given  to  no  oc- 
cupation whatever.  I  am  not  without  hope 
that  the  time  may  come  when  medical  sci- 
ence will  positively  demonstrate  that  regular 
work,  especially  as  one  grows  older,  is  the 
best  preservative  both  of  physical  and  intel- 
lectual health.  I  may  even  add  for  the  sake 
of  women  among  my  readers,  that  here  is  the 
best  preservative  of  beauty  also.  Idleness 
is  infinitely  more  wearisome  than  work,  and 
induces  also  much  more  nervousness;  for  it 
weakens  that  power  of  resistance  which  is 
the  foundation  of  health. 

Work,  it  is  true,  may  be  excessive,  but 
this  is  most  obviously  the  case  when  one 
cares  more  for  the  result  of  his  work  than 
he  does  for  the  work  itself.  Under  such  con- 
ditions, it  is  peculiarly  difficult  to  exercise 
moderation,  and  as  an  ancient  preacher  re- 

77 


marks  with  a  sigh :  "Work  is  given  to  every 
man  according  to  his  power,  but  his  heart 
cannot  abide  by  it."  In  such  cases,  however, 
Nature  herself  has  given  us  a  monitor  in  that 
physical  fatigue  which  work  itself  produces. 
One  need  only  take  account  of  such  fatigue, 
and  not  cheat  it  by  stimulants,  and  then,  even 
without  much  philosophizing,  he  will  not 
lack  self-control. 

The  habit  of  regular  work  is  further 
greatly  encouraged  by  having  a  definite  vo- 
cation which  involves  positive  tasks  and 
obligations.  Thus  the  socialistic  romances 
which  draw  a  picture  of  the  future  of  the 
world  are  quite  justified  when  they  describe 
the  universal  organization  of  industry  un- 
der the  form  of  an  army,  for  an  army  repre- 
sents that  way  of  life  in  which  order  and  duty 
in  one's  work  are  most  emphasized.  Every 
Swiss  citizen  knows  that,  with  the  exception 
of  occasional  excessivedemandsjhe  has  never 
been  in  better  health  than  when  serving  his 
term  in  the  army.  Every  hour  in  the  day  then 
had  its  regular  and  sufficient  task,  and  no  one 
was  called  to  consider  whether  he  desired  to 
do  things  or  not  to  do  them,  while  no  one 
had  time  to  anticipate  the  tasks  of  the  follow- 
ing day.  Here  is  the  misfortune  of  many  rich 
people  in  our  day, — that  they  have  no  defi- 
nite vocation.  As  the  common  saying  has  it, 

78 


\ 


"There  is  no  f  must'  for  them."  For  many 
such  persons,  a  specific  business  would  be 
a  redemption  from  the  dilettantism  which 
now  threatens  their  peace  of  mind.  They 
might  well  follow  the  example  of  that  Ba- 
varian prince  who  has  undertaken  the  pro- 
fession of  an  oculist.  I  am  even  inclined  to 
believe  that  part  of  the  movement  toward 
the  higher  education  which  is  so  conspicu- 
ous among  women  in  our  day  is  simply  the 
response  to  this  demand  of  human  nature 
for  some  definite  vocation. 

Another  question  much  discussed  in  our 
time  concerns  the  division  of  one's  working 
day.  In  great  cities  with  their  vast  distances, 
in  the  case  of  unmarried  persons  engaged  in 
more  or  less  mechanical  tasks,  and  in  the 
case  of  all  people  who  regard  their  work  as 
a  burden  to  be  thrown  off  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, there  is  some  advantage  in  working  con- 
tinuously and  without  interruption.  This  is 
what  we  are  in  the  habit  of  calling  the  Eng- 
lish method.  It  is  never  possible,  however,  to 
accomplish  in  this  way  so  much  intellectual 
work  of  a  productive  character  as  may  be 
done  under  the  Swiss  custom  of  a  pause  at 
midday.  No  one  can  continuously,  or  even 
with  momentary  pauses,  devote  himself  for 
six  or  eight  hours  to  work  of  an  intellectual 
character.  Even  if  he  allow  himself  an  hour's 

79 


interval,  the  sense  of  strain  remains,  together 
with  an  abbreviation  of  time  for  work  in  the 
afternoon.  On  the  other  hand,  under  the 
Swiss  custom,  it  is  perfectly  easy  to  work 
for  ten  or  eleven  hours  a  day, — four  in  the 
morning,  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  two  or 
three  in  the  evening,  and  few  of  us  could  ac- 
complish our  work  in  that  eight-hour  day  of 
which  we  hear  so  much,  although  we  have 
not  the  honor  of  being  reckoned  as  of  the 
class  known  as  "working  people." 

The  next  essential  point  is  not  to  have 
too  much  fussiness  about  one's  work,  or,  in 
other  words,  not  to  permit  oneself  elabo- 
rate preparations  as  to  time,  place,  surround- 
ings, inclination,  or  mood.  The  inclination 
to  work  comes  of  itself  when  one  has  begun 
his  work,  and  it  is  even  tfue  that  a  kind  of 
fatigue  with  which  one  often  begins — un- 
less, indeed,  it  has  some  positive  or  physical 
cause — disappears  as  one  seriously  attacks 
his  work,  and  does  not  simply,  as  it  were,  de- 
fend himself  from  it. 

"Begin  with  cheerfulness  thy  task 

Nor  ask  how  it  may  endy 
Farther  than  all  that  thou  couldst  ask 
Its  issues  surely  tend." 

In  short,  if  one  permit  himself  habitually 
to  stop  and  ask  that  indolent  part  of  him 
which  the  Apostle  Paul  calls  "the  old  man" 
80 


what  he  would  like  to  do,  or  would  prefer 
not  to  do,  "the  old  man"  is  most  unlikely 
to  vote  for  serious  work,  but  betakes  himself 
to  excellent  religious  or  moral  advice.  The 
bad  part  of  one  must  be  forced  to  the  habit 
of  obeying,  without  grumbling,  the  "cate- 
gorical imperative  "  of  the  better  part.  When 
one  has  achieved  this  amount  of  soldierly 
discipline  in  himself,  then  he  is  on  the  right 
path,  and  until  he  has  reached  this  point,  he 
has  not  found  his  way.  Here  he  first  learns 
whether  his  life  is  saved  or  lost.  Sometimes 
a  man  proposes  to  himself  to  collect  his 
thoughts  before  he  begins,  or  to  meditate  on 
the  work  he  is  going  to  do.  In  most  cases, 
this  is  merely  an  excuse  for  doing  nothing, 
and  it  is  most  obviously  such  an  excuse, 
when,  to  encourage  this  preliminary  reflec- 
tion, a  man  lights  his  cigar.  In  short,  one's 
best  ideas  come  while  he  is  working,  and 
often,  indeed,  while  he  is  working  on  a 
wholly  different  topic.  A  distinguished  mod- 
ern preacher  has  remarked  with  originality, 
though  not  with  strict  accuracy,  that  there  is 
not  a  single  case  mentioned  in  the  Bible  in 
which  an  angel  appeared  to  a  man  who  was 
not  at  work. 

In  close  connection  with  this  point  should 
be  mentioned  the  habit  of  using  fragments 
of  time.  Many  people  have  no  time  because 

81 


they  always  want  to  have  a  large  amount  of 
uninterrupted  time  before  they  set  them- 
selves to  work.  In  such  a  plan  they  are 
doubly  deceived.  On  the  one  hand,  in  many 
circumstances  of  life  these  prolonged  periods 
are  difficult  to  secure,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  power  of  work  which  one  possesses  is  not 
so  unlimited  that  it  can  continuously  utilize 
long  stretches  of  time.  This  is  peculiarly  true 
of  such  intellectual  work  as  is  devoted  to  pro- 
ductive effort.  Of  such  work  it  may  be  said 
without  exaggeration  that  the  first  hour,  or 
even  the  first  half-hour,  is  the  most  fruitful. 
Dismissing,  however,  these  large  intellectual 
undertakings,  there  are  to  be  found  in  con- 
nection with  every  piece  of  work  a  great  num- 
ber of  subordinate  tasks  of  preparation  or 
arrangement  which  are  of  a  mechanical  na- 
ture, and  for  each  of  which  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  so  is  sufficient.  These  minor  matters, 
if  not  disposed  of  in  small  fragments  of  time 
which  would  otherwise  be  wasted,  will  ab- 
sorb the  time  and  power  which  should  be 
devoted  to  one's  important  task.  It  might, 
indeed,  be  reasonably  maintained  that  the 
use  of  these  fragments  of  time,  together  with 
the  complete  dismissal  of  the  thought,  "It 
is  not  worth  while  to  begin  to-day, "accounts 
for  half  of  the  intellectual  results  which  one 
attains. 

82 


Another  important  means  forsaving  time 
is  the  habit  of  changing  the  kind  of  work  in 
which  one  is  engaged.  Change  is  almost  as 
restful  as  complete  rest,  and  if  one  acquire 
a  certain  degree  of  skill  in  his  ways  of  change, 
—  a  skill  which  comes  from  experience  rather 
than  from  theorizing, — one  may  carry  on  his 
work  for  almost  the  entire  day.  Moreover, 
so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  it  is  a  mistake 
to  plan  that  one  piece  of  work  shall  be  fin- 
ished before  another  is  begun. The  judicious 
course,  on  the  contrary,  is  that  which  prevails 
among  artists,  who  are  often  engaged  on  a 
whole  series  of  sketches, and  turn,  according 
to  the  momentary  inclination  which  over- 
masters them,  first  to  one  piece  of  work  and 
then  to  another.  Here,  too,  it  may  be  re- 
marked is  an  excellent  way  of  maintaining 
one's  self-control.  The  old  Adam  in  us  often 
persuades  the  better  nature  that  he  is  not 
really  lazy,  but  is  simply  not  in  the  mood 
for  a  certain  piece  of  work.  In  this  state  of 
things, one  should  forthwith  say  to  himself: 
"Well,  if  you  do  not  feel  inclined  to  this 
piece  of  work,  take  up  with  another."  Then 
one  will  discover  whether  the  difficulty  is  a 
disinclination  to  a  special  form  of  work,  to 
which  one  might  yield,  or  a  disinclination 
to  do  any  work  at  all.  In  short,  one  must 
not  permit  oneself  to  deceive  oneself. 

83 


Anotherpoint  to  be  considered  is  thehabit 
of  working  quickly,  not  giving  too  much  care 
to  outward  form,  but  devoting  one's  efforts 
to  the  content  of  the  task.  The  experience 
of  most  workers  will  bear  me  out  when  I  say 
that  the  most  profitable  and  effective  tasks 
are  those  which  have  been  done  quickly.  I 
am  well  aware  that  Horace  advises  one  to 
take  nine  years  for  the  perfecting  of  verses; 
but  such  scrupulousness  presupposes  an  ex- 
cessive notion  of  the  quality  of  one's  work. 
Thoroughness  is  a  very  beautiful  and  neces- 
sary trait,  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  truth,  for 
truth  cannot  be  too  thoroughly  explored; 
but  there  is  a  spurious  thoroughness  which 
absorbs  itself  in  all  manner  of  details  and 
subordinate  questions  which  are  not  worth 
investigating,  or  which  cannot  be  wholly 
known.  Thoroughness  of  this  kind  is  never 
satisfied  with  itself.  It  is  sometimes  mistaken 
for  great  learning;  for  to  many  people  learn- 
ing is  profound  only  when  wholly  detached 
from  practical  usefulness,  or  when  an  author, 
for  a  whole  lifetime,  has  brooded  over  one 
book. 

Truth,  wherever  it  may  be  sought,  is,  as 
a  rule,  so  simple  that  it  often  does  not 
look  learned  enough.  People  feel  as  if  they 
must  add  to  it  something  which  is  not  essen- 
tial to  the  nature  of  truth,  in  order  to  give 
84 


to  truth  a  respectable  and  academic  look. 
Among  learned  people,  it  is  often  the  case 
that  one  must  first  earn  his  reputation  by 
some  piece  of  work  which  is  of  no  use  to 
himself  or  to  any  one  else,  and  in  which 
he  heaps  together  the  hitherto  undiscovered 
rubbish  of  some  remote  century.  Lassalle 
was  able  to  write  his  famous  work  on  Hera- 
kleitos  without  forfeiting  his  interest  in  the 
affairs  of  modern  life,  but  there  are  few  au- 
thors with  this  capacity  for  practical  con- 
cerns. On  the  contrary,  many  authors  in 
their  maiden  venture  of  learned  work  not 
only  have  their  eyesight  ruined  by  their  re- 
searches, but  lose  their  inward  vision,  which 
is  a  matter  of  much  more  consequence.  They 
reach  the  goal  of  their  ambition  and  become 
of  no  further  use. 

A  further  way  of  saving  a  deal  of  time 
is  to  do  one's  work  and  be  done  with  it; 
not  to  deal  with  it,  that  is  to  say,  in  a  provi- 
sional or  preparatory  manner.  This  kind  of 
immediate  thoroughness  is  in  our  day  ex- 
tremely rare,  and  in  my  opinion  much  of 
the  blame  should  be  laid  to  the  newspapers, 
which  accustom  people  to  superficial  sur- 
veys of  truth.  The  editorial  writer  says,  at 
the  close  of  his  article,  "We  shall  return 
to  this  subject  later";  but  in  fact  he  never 
returns.  So  it  is  with  the  modern  reader.  If 

85 


he  wants  to  make  use  of  what  he  has  read,  he 
has  to  begin  the  reading  of  it  afresh.  His 
skimming  of  the  subject — as  the  phrase  is 
—  has  had  no  result,  and  so  the  time  that 
he  has  given  to  skimming  has  been  lost. 
This  is  the  reason  why  people  have  so  little 
thorough  knowledge  in  our  day,  and  why, 
though  they  have  studied  a  subject  ten  times, 
on  the  eleventh  occasion  when  they  need  it, 
they  must  study  it  again.  Indeed,  there  are 
people  who  would  be  extremely  glad  if  they 
could  remember  even  the  works  of  which 
they  themselves  were  the  authors. 

With  this  point  is  obviously  connected 
the  need  of  orderliness  and  of  the  reading 
of  original  authorities.  The  habit  of  order- 
liness saves  one  from  the  need  of  hunting 
for  material,  and  this  search  for  material  is 
not  only,  as  we  all  know,  a  great  waste  of 
time,  but  tempts  us  also  to  lose  pleasure  in 
our  work.  Further,  orderliness  permits  us  to 
allow  one  subject  to  be  forgotten,  while  we 
apply  ourselves  to  the  next.  The  reading  of 
original  sources,  on  the  other  hand,  gives 
one  the  advantage  of  being  sure  of  his  ma- 
terial, and  of  having  his  own  judgment  about 
it.  There  is  this  further  advantage,  that  the 
original  sources  are  in  most  cases  not  only 
much  briefer,  but  much  more  interesting  and 
much  easier  to  remember  than  the  books  that 
86 


have  been  written  about  them.  Second-hand 
knowledge  never  gives  the  courage  and  self- 
confidence  which  one  gets  from  acquaintance 
with  original  sources.  One  of  the  great  mis- 
takes of  modern  scholarship,  as  distinguished 
from  that  of  the  classic  world,  is  —  as  Win- 
kelmann  has  pointed  out — that  our  learning 
in  so  many  cases  consists  in  knowing  only 
what  other  people  have  known. 

But,  after  all,  we  have  not  yet  named  the 
chief  element  in  the  art  of  having  time.  It 
consists  in  banishing  from  one's  life  all  su- 
perfluities. Much  which  modern  civilization 
regards  as  essential,  is,  in  reality,  superfluous, 
and  while  I  shall  indicate  several  things  which 
appear  to  me  unnecessary,  I  shall  be  quite 
content  to  have  my  reader  supplement  them 
by  his  own  impressions.  For  instance,  one 
superfluity  is  beer.  It  is  superfluous  at  any 
time  of  the  day  and  especially  when  drunk 
in  the  morning,  after  the  fashion  made  popu- 
lar by  Prince  Bismarck.  Perhaps  the  greatest 
contributors  to  waste  of  time  in  this  century 
are  the  brewers,  and  the  time  will  come  when 
people  may  regard  the  excessive  drinking  of 
beer  as  they  now  regard  the  excessive  use  of 
alcohol  in  other  forms. 

I  may  name  as  a  second  superfluity  the  ex- 
cessive reading  of  newspapers.  There  are  in 
our  day  people  who  regard  themselves  as  edu- 

87 


cated,  and  who  yet  read  nothing  but  news- 
papers. Their  houses  are  built  and  furnished 
in  all  possible — and  impossible — styles,and 
yet  you  will  find  in  them  hardly  a  dozen  good 
books.  They  get  their  whole  supply  of  ideas 
out  of  the  newspapers  and  magazines,  and 
these  publications  are  more  and  more  de- 
signed to  meet  the  needs  of  such  people. 
This  excessive,  or  even  exclusive,  reading  of 
newspapers  is  often  excused  on  account  of 
our  political  interests ;  but  one  has  only  to 
notice  what  it  is  in  the  newspapers  which 
people  are  most  anxious  to  read  to  arrive  at 
a  judgment  whether  this  excuse  is  sound.  I 
may  add  that  the  time  of  day  dedicated  to 
the  newspaper  is  by  no  means  unimportant. 
People,  for  instance,  who  devote  their  first 
hour  in  the  morning  to  the  reading  of  one 
or  two  newspapers  lose  thereby  the  freshest 
interest  in  their  day's  work. 

Another  superfluity  is  the  excessive  going 
to  meetings.  A  man  who  is  much  devoted 
to  such  gatherings  can  scarcely  find  time  for 
serious  work.  Indeed,  it  is  not  necessary  for 
him  to  do  independent  work;  for  he  has  sub- 
stituted for  his  own  judgment  the  judgment 
of  the  crowd,  and  the  crowd  carries  him  on 
its  shoulders.  A  great  waste  of  time  occurs, 
further,  among  one  class  of  people  at  the 
present  time,  through  a  pretended  devotion 


to  art.  I  do  not  refer  to  art  practised  by 
oneself,  but  to  art  as  passively  accepted ;  and 
I  should  perhaps  make  exception  in  what  I 
say,  of  the  art  of  music.  In  other  forms  of  art 
many  persons  permit  those  impulses  which 
should  have  stirred  them  to  idealism,  and 
to  responsiveness  toward  the  beautiful,  to 
evaporate  in  aesthetic  satisfactions.  Many 
women,  to  speak  frankly,  are  educated  to  ac- 
quire mere  artistic  appreciation;  and  they 
cannot,  without  severe  struggles  and  against 
great  hindrances,  find  the  way  back  from  this 
mood  to  any  profitable  and  spiritually  satis- 
fying work. 

Another  superfluity  is  the  devotion  to 
social  duties  and  the  whole  purposeless  sys- 
tem of  making  "calls."  These  habits  are  the 
mere  shadows  of  genuine  friendship,  and  of 
the  intellectual  stimulus  through  personal 
intercourse  which  they  were  originally  in- 
tended to  express.  I  need  not  speak  of  su- 
perfluous amusements.  The  theatre,  for  in- 
stance, to  accomplish  its  legitimate  aim  needs 
so  fundamental  a  reform  that  there  would  be 
really  nothing  left  of  its  present  methods. 
Finally,  and  of  quite  another  category  among 
the  elements  of  culture  in  our  time,  I  may 
name  as  superfluous  the  superficial  and  pop- 
ular products  of  materialism,  and  with  these 
the  debasing  French  novels  and  dramas  of 


the  day.  People  of  the  educated  class  in  our 
time,  and  especially  people  of  the  academic 
circle,  ought  to  have  the  courage  to  say  of 
such  literature:  "We  know  nothing  about 
it."  Then  perhaps  one  might  have  time  to 
read  something  each  day  which  was  serious 
and  educative;  something  that  tended  to 
strengthen  the  mind  and  to  bring  one  into 
real  contact  with  the  intellectual  movement 
of  the  age. 

And  now,  lest  there  should  be  complaint 
of  time  wasted  on  such  reading  as  this,  I 
shall  add  but  two  other  points.  One  of  these, 
stated  by  Rothe,  is  the  advice  that  it  is  most 
desirable  not  to  take  up  one's  time  with 
the  details  of  one's  business  affairs.  Even  if 
this  is  not  altogether  possible,  one  may,  if 
he  wish  it,  greatly  reduce  the  care  of  details 
of  administration,  and  live  in  a  world  of 
larger  and  happier  thoughts.  The  other 
point,  which  has  even  more  practical  signifi- 
cance, is  this :  Limit  yourself  to  that  which 
you  really  know  and  which  has  been  espe- 
cially committed  to  your  care.  For  your  spe- 
cial task  you  will  almost  always  have  time 
enough.  An  Old  Testament  saying  states 
it  even  more  plainly:  "He  that  tilleth  his 
land  shall  have  plenty  of  bread:  but  he  that 
followeth  after  vain  persons  shall  have  pov- 
erty enough."  As  to  the  things  which  do  not 
90 


concern  one's  special  calling,  but  which  have 
a  certain  significance  in  the  world  and  a  cer- 
tain importance  for  culture,  it  may  be  neces- 
sary for  one,  once  in  his  life,  to  acquire  a 
superficial  survey  of  them  by  a  glance  at  the 
best  original  sources.  One  should  thereafter 
leave  these  matters  alone  and  not  concern 
himself  with  them  further. 

Finally,  in  this  enumeration  of  the  things 
which  waste  one's  time,  I  may  add  that 
one  must  not  permit  himself  to  be  over- 
burdened with  superfluous  tasks.  There  are 
in  our  day  an  infinite  number  of  these, — 
correspondence,  committees,  reports,  and 
not  the  least,  lectures.  All  of  them  take  time, 
and  it  is  extremely  probable  that  nothing 
will  come  of  them.  When  the  Apostle  Paul 
was  addressing  the  Athenians,  he  remarked 
that  they  did  nothing  else  than  to  hear  some 
new  thing.  It  was  not  the  serious  part  of  his 
address,  or  its  spiritual  quickening,  to  which 
they  gave  their  attention,  it  was  its  novelty; 
and  the  outcome  of  his  sermon  was  simply 
that  some  mocked,  and  the  most  friendly 
said  with  patronizing  kindness:  "We  will 
hear  thee  again  of  this  matter."  Indeed,  the 
reporter  of  the  incident  finds  it  necessary 
to  mention  expressly,  that  one  member  of 
the  Athenian  City-Council  and  one  woman 
in  the  audience  received  some  lasting  good 

91 


from  the  Apostle's  address.  How  is  it,  let 
me  ask  you,  with  yourselves?  Have  the  lec- 
tures which  you  have  heard  been  to  you  in 
any  way  positive  influences  of  insight  and 
decision,  or  have  they  been  merely  the  evi- 
dences of  the  speaker's  erudition? 

Such  are  the  ways  which  in  our  present 
social  conditions  are  open  to  any  one  to  use 
for  saving  time.  I  must  add,  however,  that 
if  one  tries  to  use  these  ways  of  saving  time, 
he  will  make  another  discovery.  For  one  of 
the  most  essential  elements  of  such  happi- 
ness as  we  can  reach  on  earth  lies  in  not 
having  too  much  time.  The  vastly  greater 
proportion  of  human  happiness  consists  in 
continuous  and  progressive  work,  with  the 
blessing  which  is  given  to  work  and  which 
in  the  end  makes  work  itself  a  pleasure.  The 
spirit  of  man  is  never  more  cheerful  than 
when  it  has  discovered  its  proper  work. 
Make  this  discovery,  first  of  all,  if  you  wish 
to  be  happy.  Most  of  the  wrecks  of  human 
life  are  caused  by  having  either  no  work,  or 
too  little  work,  or  uncongenial  work;  and 
the  human  heart,  which  is  so  easily  agitated, 
never  beats  more  peacefully  than  in  the  natu- 
ral activity  of  vigorous,  yet  satisfying,  work. 
Only  one  must  guard  against  making  of 
work  an  idol,  instead  of  serving  God  through 
one's  work.  Those  who  forget  this  last  dis- 
92 


tinction  find  themselves  in  later  life  doomed 
to  intellectual  or  physical  prostration. 

There  are,  then,  but  two  possessions  which 
may  be  attained  by  persons  of  every  condi- 
tion, which  never  desert  one  through  life, 
and  are  a  constant  consolation  in  misfortune. 
These  are  work  and  love.  Those  who  shut 
these  blessings  out  of  life  commit  a  greater 
sin  than  suicide.  They  do  not  even  know 
what  it  is  that  they  throw  away.  Rest  with- 
out work  is  a  thing  which  in  this  life  one 
cannot  endure.  The  best  blessing  which  can 
be  promised  is  that  last  blessing  of  Moses 
for  Asher:  "Thy  shoes  shall  be  iron  and 
brass ;  and  as  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength 
be."  Better  than  this  one  should  not  desire, 
and  if  one  has  this  he  should  be  thankful. 
Yet,  it  must  be  added,  this  contentedness  in 
continuous  work  is  possible  only  when  one 
abandons  ambition;  for  ambition  is  always 
most  deeply  anxious  not  to  do  work,  but  as 
soon  as  possible  to  get  the  result  of  work, 
even  if  that  result  is  illusive.  Ambition  is  the 
Moloch  of  our  time,  to  whom  we  feel  bound 
to  sacrifice  even  our  own  children,  and  who, 
more  than  all  other  foes,  destroys  the  bodies 
and  the  souls  of  youth. 

If,  still  further,  one  commit  himself,  as  is 
so  often  the  case,  to  that  philosophy  of  mate- 
rialism in  which  this  brief  life  is  the  end  of 

93 


opportunity,  so  that  but  a  few  years  are  ours 
for  the  accomplishment  of  all  which  the  piti- 
less and  endless  struggle  for  existence  and 
the  survival  of  the  fittest  permit,  then  there 
is  an  end  of  all  restfulnessand  blessedness  in 
work.  Under  such  a  view,  time  is  indeed  too 
short,  and  every  art  is  indeed  too  long.  The 
true  spirit  of  work,  which  has  no  time  for 
superfluities,  but  time  enough  for  what  is 
right  and  true,  grows  best  in  the  soil  of  that 
philosophy  which  sees  one's  work  extending 
into  the  infinite  world,  and  one's  life  on  earth 
as  but  one  part  of  life  itself.  Then  one  gets 
strength  to  do  his  highest  tasks, and  patience 
among  the  grave  difficulties  and  hindrances 
which  confront  him  both  within  himself  and 
in  the  times  in  which  he  lives.  One  is  calmly 
indifferent  to  much  which  in  the  sight  of  this 
world  alone  may  seem  important,  but  which, 
seen  in  the  light  of  eternity,  loses  signifi- 
cance. This  is  the  meaning  of  that  beautiful 
saying  of  the  philosopher  of  Gorlitz,  which 
brings  to  our  troubled  time  its  message  of 
comfort : 

"He  who,  while  here^  lives  the  eternal  life 
Is  through  eternity  set  free  from  strife"* 


94 


VI.  HAPPINESS 


VI.  HAPPINESS 

HATEVER  the  philoso- 
phers may  say,  it  remains 
true  that,  from  the  first  hour 
of  man's  waking  conscious- 
ness until  that  consciousness 
ceases,  his  most  ardent  de- 
sire is  to  be  happy,  and  that 
the  moment  of  his  profoundest  regret  is 
when  he  becomes  convinced  that  on  this 
earth  perfect  happiness  cannot  be  found. 
Here  is  the  problem  which  gives  to  the  va- 
rious ages  of  human  history  their  special 
characters.  Blithe  are  those  ages  when  young 
and  progressive  nations  still  hope  for  hap- 
piness, or  when  men  believe  that  in  some 
new  formula  of  philosophy,  or  of  reiigion,or 
perhaps  in  some  new  industrial  programme, 
the  secret  of  human  happiness  has  at  last 
been  found.  Gloomy  are  those  ages  in  which, 
as  in  our  time,  great  masses  of  people  are 
burdened  with  the  conviction  that  all  these 
familiar  formulas  have  been  illusions,  and 
when  persons  of  the  keenest  insight  say — as 
they  are  now  saying — that  the  very  word 
happiness  has  in  it  a  note  of  melancholy.  No 
sooner,  we  are  told,  does  one  speak  of  hap- 
piness than  it  flees  from  him.  In  its  very  na- 
ture it  lies  beyond  the  sphere  of  practical 
realization. 

97 


I  do  not  share  this  opinion.  I  believe  that 
happiness  can  be  found.  If  I  thought  other- 
wise, I  should  be  silent  and  not  make  un- 
happiness  the  more  bitter  by  discussing  it. 
It  is,  indeed,  true  that  those  who  talk  of 
happiness  utter  therewith  a  sigh,  as  if  there 
were  doubt  whether  happiness  could  be  at- 
tained. It  is  still  further  true  that  irrational 
views  of  happiness  seem  to  be  for  the  pres- 
ent forced  upon  us.  Only  through  these  im- 
perfect views  can  individuals  orcommunities 
approach  that  degree  of  spiritual  and  material 
development  which  is  the  necessary  founda- 
tion for  real  happiness. 

And  here  our  question  seems  to  involve 
a  serious  contradiction.  For  we  have,  first  of 
all,  to  learn  from  our  own  experience  much 
that  does  not  bring  us  happiness.  Each  in  his 
own  way  must  pass,  with  the  greatest  of  all 
poets,  through  the  "forest  dark"  to  the 
"city  dolent,"  and  climb  the  steep  path  of 
the  "Holy  Mountain,"  before  he  may  learn 
how 

"  That  apple  sweet,  which  through  so  many  branches 
The  care  of  mortals  goeth  in  pursuit  ofy 
To-day  shall  put  in  peace  thy  hungering*  "  4 

All  this  is  to  be  attained,  not  through  in- 
struction, but  through  experience.  It  is  a 
path,  and  especially  the  latter  part  of  it,  which 


each  must  walk  alone.  No  visible  help  is  on 
any  side,  and  as  one  meets  each  of  those  ob- 
stacles which  in  his  own  strength  perhaps 
he  could  not  overcome,  he  is  upborne  by 
that 

"...  eagle  in  the  sky,  with  plumes  of  gold, 
With  wings  wide  open,  and  intent  to  stoop, 

Then  wheeling  somewhat  more,  it  seemed  to  me, 
Terrible  as  the  lightning  he  descended, 
And  snatched  me  upward  even  to  the  fire"  $ 

Thus  the  suggestions  which  now  follow  con- 
cern themselves  merely  with  the  many  mis- 
leading ways  which  purport  to  lead  toward 
happiness,  and  in  which  each  new  genera- 
tion in  its  restless  longing  is  tempted  to  go 
astray. 

The  paths  by  which  people  journey  to- 
ward happiness  lie  in  part  through  the  world 
about  them  and  in  part  through  the  experi- 
ence of  their  souls.  On  the  one  hand,  there 
is  the  happiness  which  comes  from  wealth, 
honor,  the  enjoyment  of  life,  from  health, 
culture,  science,  or  art;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  the  happiness  which  is  to  be 
found  in  a  good  conscience,  in  virtue,  work, 
philanthropy,  religion,  devotion  to  great 
ideas  and  great  deeds. 

The  outward  ways  to  happiness  are,  how- 
ever, all,  in  one  respecl:,  disappointing.  They 

99 


are  not  paths  which  are  possible  for  every 
one  to  follow,  and  therefore,  for  many  can- 
not lead  to  happiness.  Still  further,  the  pos- 
session of  good  things  which  others  do  not 
possess  cannot  but  bring  with  it  to  any  no- 
ble soul  some  twinge  of  conscience.  One  who 
enjoys  these  outward  blessings,  and  recalls 
the  millions  of  human  beings  by  his  side 
who  are  perishing  for  lack  of  them,  must  be 
either  thoroughly  selfish  or  profoundly  un- 
happy. It  is  of  such  persons  that  Jesus  is 
thinking  when  he  speaks  of  the  "unright- 
eous Mammon,"  and  even  goes  on  to  say: 
"  How  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  en- 
ter into  the  kingdom."  No  man,  that  is  to 
say,  can  attain  to  Christian  happiness  who 
attains  distinction  at  the  cost  of  others. "  One 
that  is  proud  in  heart,"  says  the  Book  of 
Proverbs,  "is  an  abomination  to  the  Lord." 
Thus  it  was  that  Francis  of  Assisi,  and 
many  a  saint  before  and  after  him,  resolved, 
at  any  price,  to  break  the  chains  of  worldly 
possessions.  It  was  a  logical  resolution. 
Wealth  is  the  gravest  of  obstacles  to  the 
spiritual  life,  and  few  men  are  wholly  free 
from  its  solicitations  or  slavery.The  posses- 
sion and  administration  of  a  large  property, 
and,  indeed,  every  position  of  exceptional 
honor  and  power,  induce  with  almost  abso- 
lute certainty  a  hardening  of  the  disposition 
100 


which  is  the  very  opposite  of  happiness.  One 
shudders  as  he  observes  how  dull  life  seems 
to  that  spiritless  throng  which  in  ever-in- 
creasing numbers  visits  each  year  the  Swiss 
mountains  to  escape  the  emptiness  of  their 
prosperous  lives. 

Such  is  the  result  of  these  external  ways 
of  seeking  happiness.  But  we  do  not  fare 
much  better  when  we  turn  to  that  form  of 
happiness  which  lays  claim  to  a  nobler  and 
a  spiritual  source, — the  happiness  of  the 
aesthetic  life.  For  the  boundaries  between 
this  form  of  happiness  and  that  of  mere  ma- 
terialism are  by  no  means  easy  to  define. 
^Esthetic  enjoyment  often  passes  over  into 
mere  sensualism,  as  Goethe,  the  great  model 
of  aesthetic  interest,  has  proved  to  us  both  in 
his  poetry — as  in  the  case  of  Faust — and 
in  his  own  life.  Indeed,  the  new  school  of 
aestheticism  runs  grave  risk  of  interpreting 
much  in  terms  of  art  which  is  in  fad:  mere 
materialism.  Those  who  thus  seek  happiness 
should  recall  the  saying  of  their  illustrious 
predecessor,  who  possessed  in  an  extraordi- 
nary degree  the  capacity  to  attain  whatever 
happiness  in  life  aestheticism  had  to  offer. 
"When  all  is  said,"  remarks  Goethe,  "my 
life  has  been  nothing  but  care  and  work.  I 
can  ev.en  say  that  in  my  seventy-five  years,! 
have  not  had  four  weeks  of  real  happiness. 

101 


It  has  been  a  continuous  rolling  up  hill  of 
a  stone  which  must  ever  be  pushed  again 
from  the  bottom."  Four  weeks  of  happiness 
in  seventy-five  years !  This  man  of  art  de- 
clares that  in  his  view  life  is  nothing  else 
than  misery !  There  is  hardly  an  honest  day- 
laborer  who  at  the  end  of  his  life,  full  as  it 
may  have  been  of  genuine  troubles,  could 
give  so  poor  an  account  of  himself. 

The  fact  is,  then,  that  human  nature 
seems  obviously  not  intended  for  this  kind 
of  happiness.  Life  is  made  for  activity;  and 
this  kind  of  receptive  enjoyment,  even  in  its 
highest  forms,  is  designed  merely  to  give 
flavor  and  change  to  life,  and  to  be  sparingly 
used;  so  that  those  who  give  themselves  too 
confidently  to  such  enjoyment  bitterly  de- 
ceive themselves.  Genuine  happiness  cannot 
be  arbitrarily  produced.  It  issues  from  obedi- 
ence to  a  genuine  demand  of  human  nature, 
and  from  intelligent  activity  naturally  em- 
ployed. Here  is  the  rational  basis  of  that  faith 
in  human  equality  and  that  contentment  with 
the  simple  joys  of  life,  in  which  people  to- 
day believe  much  too  little,  and  which  awhile 
ago  people  praised  with  perhaps  exagger- 
ated sentiment. 

Still  further,  as  regards  such  aesthetic  en- 
joyment, it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  level 
of  aesthetic  judgments  in  literature  and  art 
1 02 


is  now  so  visibly  sinking  that  these  resources 
cannot  long  satisfy  minds  that  can  be  called 
educated,  or  nations  that  can  be  called  pro- 
gressive. The  time  may  soon  come  when 
people  will  weary  of  this  "efflorescence"  of 
science,  literature,and  art ;  and  may  even  wish 
to  exchange  it  for  a  taste  of  healthy  barba- 
rism. The  Austrian  poet  Rosegger  has  thus 
described  a  not  impossible  future:  "We  al- 
ready see  each  year  a  great  migration  of  peo- 
ple passing  from  the  cities  to  the  country  and 
the  mountains,  and  not  until  the  leaves  are 
touched  with  autumn  color  returning  to  the 
city  walls.  The  time  will  come,  however,  when 
prosperous  city-folk  will  betake  themselves 
permanently  to  country  life;  and  when  the 
work-people  of  the  city  will  migrate  to  the 
wilderness  and  subdue  it.  They  will  abandon 
the  search  for  book-knowledge,  they  will  find 
their  pleasure  and  renewal  in  physical  work, 
they  will  make  laws  under  which  an  inde- 
pendent and  self-respecting  livelihood  will 
be  ensured  to  country-dwellers ;  and  the  no- 
tion of  an  ignorant  peasantry  will  disappear." 
However  this  may  be,  it  is  at  least  certain 
that  we  are  approaching  a  period  marked  by 
a  return  to  nature,  and  by  a  taste  for  simpli- 
city, such  as  existed  at  the  end  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, when  Marie  Antoinette  played  shep- 
herdess with  her  courtiers  at  the  Trianon.  It 

103 


is  a  simplicity  which  is  caricatured  by  the  lux- 
urious folk  who  parade  each  summer  through 
Switzerland  in  mountain  dresses  and  spiked 
shoes, and  attempt  an  intimacy  with  the  life 
of  nature.  Even  these  folk,  strange  as  is  their 
attire  and  laughable  as  is  their  mimicry  of  the 
life  of  peasants  and  mountaineers,  find  them- 
selves as  happy  as  their  conventional  lives 
permit. 

One  other  external  notion  of  happiness 
may  be  dealt  with  in  a  word.  It  is  the  hap- 
piness which  is  sought  in  freedom  from  care. 
Such  happiness  is  an  ideal  for  those  only 
who  have  never  had  the  experience  of  such 
freedom.  For  the  facl:  is  that  through  our 
cares,  when  not  excessive,  and  through  our 
victory  over  cares,  comes  the  most  essential 
part  of  human  happiness.  Cares  of  a  reason- 
able nature  do  not  constitute  what  we  call 
care.  Many  a  life  of  the  widest  experience 
would  testify  that  the  most  unendurable 
experience  is  to  be  found,  not  in  a  series  of 
stormy  days,  but  in  a  series  of  cloudless  ones. 

I  pass,  then,  from  those  who  seek  for  hap- 
piness in  material  and  outward  conditions 
to  those  more  rational  inquirers  who  seek  it 
in  the  spiritual  life.  These  persons  expecl 
that  happiness  will  be  secured  in  the  doing 
of  their  duty,  in  a  good  conscience,  in  per- 
sonal work  of  public  good,  in  patriotism, 
104 


or  charity,  or  some  form  of  philanthropy,  or 
perhaps  in  conformity  to  the  teachings  of 
their  Church.  And  yet,  a  very  considerable 
part  of  the  drift  to  pessimism  which  one  ob- 
serves in  our  day  comes  of  the  experience 
that  no  one  of  these  ways  leads  surely  to  hap- 
piness, or,  at  least,  that  one  does  not  get  in 
such  ways  the  happiness  for  which  he  hoped. 
Indeed,  it  is  perhaps  still  further  true  that 
a  great  part  of  the  reckless  "  Realism,"  now 
so  prevalent  among  us,  comes  not  of  the 
conviction  that  it  will  make  one  happy,  but 
only  of  the  despair  of  finding  any  other  way 
of  happiness.  For  if  it  be  true  that  neither 
our  work,  nor  what  we  call  our  virtues,  can 
bring  peace  to  the  soul;  if  outward  activ- 
ity, and  charity,  and  patriotism,  are  but  a 
mockery  of  happiness;  if  religion  is  for  the 
most  part  only  a  form  or  a  phrase,  without 
objective  certainty;  if  all  is  thus  but  vanity 
of  vanities,  then  indeed:  "Let  us  eat  and 
drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die." 

I  do  not  join  in  the  condemnation  with 
which  the  moralists  usually  meet  this  view 
of  life.  I  deny  only  the  conclusions  which 
are  drawn  from  such  a  view.  I  recognize  the 
honest  purpose  of  these  modern  philoso- 
phers. They  represent,  at  least,  a  sincere 
love  of  truth;  they  are  hostile  to  all  mere 
phrases.  The  spirit  of  the  modern  world 

105 


looks  for  a  happiness  which  is  not  mere 
philosophical  composure,  but  which  has  ob- 
jective results.  It  demands  a  kind  of  con- 
tentment in  which  every  human  being  may 
have  a  share.  In  all  this,  the  spirit  of  the  age 
is  wholly  right,  and  this  demand  for  objec- 
tive happiness  which  it  utters  is  a  note  which 
has  not  been  heard  for  two  thousand  years. 
I,  too,  desire  happiness  ;  but  I  know  that  one 
who  would  find  the  way  to  happiness  must, 
first  of  all,  and  without  hesitation,  throw 
overboard  all  the  false  idols  which  have 
tempted  him  to  worship  them.  As  he  dis- 
misses the  prejudices  which  birth,  or  circum- 
stances, or  habits,  have  created,  he  takes  one 
step  after  another  toward  true  happiness. 
As  the  Emperor  Maximilian  of  Mexico,  one 
of  the  least  fortunate  persons  of  our  day, 
rightly  said:  "The  abandoning  of  an  un- 
truth, or  of  a  prejudice,  brings  with  it  forth- 
with a  sensation  of  joy."  Here,  then,  is  our 
guide  along  this  darkened  road,  which  with- 
out some  such  guidance  we  could  not  find 
at  all. 

"  The  happy  life  lies  straight  before  our  eyes,  — 
We  3e  e  it   but  we  know  not  how  to 


First  of  all,  then,  we  must  admit  that  happi- 
ness does  not  consist  in  the  sense  of  virtue 
alone.  This  idol  of  the  incorruptible  Robes- 

106 


pierre  will  not  serve  us.  For  virtue  in  its  com- 
pleteness dwells  in  no  human  heart.  One 
must  have  but  a  meagre  conception  of  vir- 
tue, or  else  a  very  limited  intellectual  capa- 
city, who  finds  himself  always  self-contented. 
Even  the  vainest  of  men  are  not  in  reality 
contented;  their  vanity  itself  is  in  large  de- 
gree only  a  sense  of  uncertainty  about  their 
worth,  so  that  they  need  the  constant  en- 
dorsement of  others  to  satisfy  them.  The 
maxim  says  that  a  good  conscience  makes  a 
soft  pillow,  and  he  who  has  this  unfailing 
sense  of  duty  done  no  doubt  has  happiness; 
but  I  have  not,  as  yet,  fallen  in  with  such  a 
man.  My  impression  is  that  there  is  not  one 
of  us  who  has  ever,  even  for  a  single  day, 
done  his  whole  duty.  Beyond  this,  I  need 
not  go.  If  one  of  my  readers  says  to  me:  "I 
am  the  man  who  has  thus  done  his  duty," 
— well,  he  may  be  quite  right,  but  I  do  not 
care  for  that  man's  nearer  acquaintance.  The 
farther  a  man  advances  in  the  doing  of  his 
duty,  so  much  the  more  his  conscience  and 
perception  grow  refined.  The  circle  of  his 
duties  widens  continually  before  him,  so 
that  he  understands  the  Apostle  Paul,  when, 
with  perfect  sincerity,  and  without  false  hu- 
mility, he  speaks  of  himself  as  the  "chief  of 
sinners." 

Are,  then,  I  ask  again,  philanthropy  and 

107 


the  good  deeds — public  and  private — which 
it  suggests,  the  secret  of  happiness?  Love  is 
a  great  word,  and  the  Apostle  is  altogether 
justified  when  in  the  familiar  passage  of  his 
letters  he  says  that  among  the  many  things 
which  perish,  love  abides.  But  when  in  the 
same  passage  he  says  that  it  is  possible  to 
speak  with  the  tongues  of  angels,  and  give 
all  one's  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  even 
give  one's  body  to  be  burned,  and  yet  not 
have  love, — then  we  comprehend  without 
further  explanation  what  he  means  by  love. 
For  love  is  a  part  of  God's  own  being,  which 
does  not  originate  in  the  hearts  of  men.  One 
who  possesses  it  knows  well  enough  that  it 
is  not  his  own.  Even  the  pale  human  reflec- 
tion of  this  Divine  love  brings  happiness, 
but  it  is  a  temporary  happiness;  and  always 
with  the  perilous  uncertainty  of  a  love  which 
anticipates  return,  so  that  the  happiness  de- 
pends upon  the  will  of  others.  He,  then, 
who  yields  his  heart  absolutely  to  others, 
and  stakes  his  happiness  on  their  affection, 
may  some  day  find  the  terrible  words  of  the 
Jewish  prophet  true :  "  Cursed  be  the  man 
that  trusteth  in  man,  and  maketh  flesh  his 
arm,  and  whose  heart  departeth  from  the 
Lord."  All  this  may  be  one  day  a  spiritual 
experience,  which  may  convert  his  love  into 
hate.  That  apotheosis  of  hate  which  marks 
1 08 


the  talk  of  many  a  social  agitator  in  our  day 
is  but  the  evidence  of  those  bitter  disillu- 
sions of  affection  which  millions  have  been 
called  to  feel. 

Is,  then,  happiness  to  be  found  in  work? 
Work  is  certainly  one  great  factor  of  human 
happiness — indeed,  in  one  sense,  the  great- 
est; for  without  work  all  happiness  which  is 
not  mere  intoxication  is  absolutely  denied. 
In  order  to  get  the  capacity  for  happiness, 
one  must  obey  the  commands:  "Six  days 
shalt  thou  labor,"  and  "In  the  sweat  of  thy 
face  shalt  thou  eat  bread."  Of  all  seekers  for 
happiness,  the  most  foolish  are  those  who 
evade  these  two  conditions.  Without  work 
no  man  can  be  happy.  In  this  negative  state- 
ment the  saying  is  absolutely  true.  And  yet, 
it  is  a  greater  error  to  suppose  that  work  is 
in  itself  happiness,  or  to  believe  that  every 
work  leads  to  happiness.  It  is  not  alone  our 
imagination  that  pictures  another  ideal,  so 
that  one  can  hardly  imagine  a  heaven,  or  an 
earthly  paradise,  as  devoted  to  unremitting 
work;  it  is  also  true — and  it  is  much  more 
to  be  remembered — that  only  a  fool  can 
be  wholly  contented  with  the  work  that  he 
does.  One  might  even  say  that  the  wisest 
see  most  clearly  the  incompleteness  of  their 
work,  so  that  not  one  of  them  has  been  able, 
at  the  end  of  his  day's  work,  to  say  of  it: 

109 


"  Behold,  it  is  very  good."  This  mere  praise 
of  work,  then,  is,  for  the  most  part,  only  a 
sort  of  a  spur,  or  whip,  with  which  one  urges 
himself,  or  others,  to  the  tasks  of  life;  so 
that  even  those  who  take  pride  in  describing 
themselves  as  "working-people"  are  much 
concerned  to  reduce  as  far  as  possible  their 
working  day.  If  work  were  essentially  the 
same  as  happiness,  these  people  would  be 
seeking  to  prolong  as  much  as  possible  the 
hours  of  work. 

Of  all  seekers  for  happiness,  however,  the 
most  extraordinary  are  those  who  look  for  it 
in  the  philosophy  of  pessimism;  yet  of  these 
there  are  not  a  few,  and  by  no  means  of  the 
baser  sort.  There  is,  however,  almost  always 
associated  with  the  creed  of  pessimism  a  cer- 
tain false  impression  of  one's  own  impor- 
tance. It  has  an  appearance  of  magnanimity 
to  throw  overboard  all  one's  hopes,  and  to 
believe  that  everything,  oneself  included, 
is  bad.  For  this,  at  least,  is  true,  that  if  all  are 
bad,  he  who  sees  that  it  is  so,  and  admits  it, 
is,  after  all,  the  least  bad ;  and  if  he  is  sin- 
cerely contented  that  others  should  regard 
him  as  bad,  he  may  be  not  far  from  the  way 
to  something  better.  Yet,  pessimism  as  a  per- 
manent habit  of  mind  is,  for  the  most  part, 
only  a  mantle  of  philosophy  through  which, 
when  it  is  thrown  back,  there  looks  out  the 
no 


face  of  vanity; — a  vanity  which  is  never 
satisfied  and  which  withholds  one  forever 
from  a  contented  mind. 

Finally,  of  all  people  who  seek  for  happi- 
ness, the  most  unhappy  are  those  who  seek 
it  in  mere  conformity  to  religious  creeds. 
There  are  many  such  people  in  our  day, 
and  they  find  themselves  in  the  end  bitterly 
disappointed.  For  all  church  organizations 
are  inclined  to  promise  more  than  they  can 
assure,  and  are  like  nets  to  catch  all  manner 
of  fish .  I  n  a  passage  from  the  works  of  the  late 
Professor  Gelzer,  he  remarks  that,  for  most 
church-going  people,  worship  is  nothing 
more  than  "appearing  at  Court  once  a  week 
to  present  one's  respects  to  the  throne."  He 
adds  that  there  is  the  same  formal  service 
of  man  also;  for  one  sometimes  does  this 
service,or,as  the  Bible  says,"  Hath  wrought 
a  good  work  upon  me,"  only  for  the  better 
maintenance  in  the  future  of  one's  own  self- 
esteem. 

I  shall  not  contradict  what  so  distin- 
guished a  man  out  of  his  rich  experience  has 
said  on  this  subject.  Yet,  for  my  own  part, 
I  must  still  believe  that  if  a  human  soul 
worships  God  even  in  the  most  irrational 
way,  and  recognizes  its  dependence  on  Him, 
God  will  not  forsake  that  soul.  I  must  be- 
lieve, still  further,  that  the  feeblest  and  most 

in 


superstitious  expressions  of  religion  bring  to 
one  who,  even  with  occasional  sincerity,  per- 
sists in  them,  more  happiness  than  the  most 
brilliant  philosophy  of  atheism  can  offer.  Yet 
this  blessing  bestowed  upon  simple  soulsby 
the  patience  of  God  is  not  to  be  attained  in 
its  fulness  by  those  who  are  capable  of  larger 
insight.  Such  persons  have  the  duty  laid  on 
them  to  free  the  Christian  Religion  from  the 
lukewarmness  which  for  two  thousand  years 
has  afflicted  it.  Theirs  is  the  duty  of  dissatis- 
faction with  the  forms  and  formulas  of  the 
Church.  No  mere  science  of  religion  should 
content  them;  for  such  a  science  alone  never 
brought  happiness  to  man,  and  still  offers  to 
a  people  who  do  not  really  understand  its 
teachings,  stones  instead  of  bread.  So  long 
as  people  seek  contentment  in  these  ways, 
their  path  to  happiness  must  abound  in  dis- 
appointments; and  these^  disappointments 
become  the  harder  to  bear  because  people, 
as  a  rule,  do  not  dare  to  confess  either  to 
themselves,  or  to  others,  that  they  are  thus 
disappointed.  They  must  pretend  to  them- 
selves that  they  are  satisfied  because  they  see 
no  path  which  may  lead  them  back  to  hap- 
piness and  peace. 

Such,  then,  are  some  of  the  ways  by  which, 
with  slight  modifications  and  combinations, 
the  human  race  through  all  its  history  has 
112 


sought  for  happiness ;  and  if  we  do  not  recog- 
nize these  ways  in  history,  we  may  find  them 
all  with  more  or  less  distinctness  in  our  own 
experience.  And  yet  by  no  one  of  these  ways 
has  the  race  found  the  happiness  it  seeks. 
What,  then,  I  ask  once  more,  is  the  path  to 
this  end? 

The  first  and  the  most  essential  condition 
of  true  happiness,  I  answer,  is  a  firm  faith  in 
the  moral  order  of  the  world.  If  one  lack 
this,  if  it  be  held  that  the  world  is  governed 
by  chance  or  by  those  changeless  laws  of  na- 
ture which  in  their  dealings  with  the  weak 
are  merciless,  or  if,  finally,  one  imagine  the 
world  controlled  by  the  cunning  and  power 
of  man, — then  there  is  no  hope  of  personal 
happiness.  In  such  an  order  of  the  world, 
there  is  nothing  left  for  the  individual  but  to 
rule,  or  to  be  ruled;  to  be  either  the  anvil  or 
the  hammer;  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  of 
the  two  would  be  to  an  honorable  man  the 
more  unworthy  lot. 

In  national  life  especially,  this  view  of 
the  world  leads  to  constant  war  and  prepa- 
ration for  war,  and  the  text-book  of  poli- 
tics becomes  The  Prince  of  Machiavelli. 
From  such  a  condition  of  war  the  only  pos- 
sible, though  partial,  deliverance  would  be 
through  some  vast  governmental  control, 
ruling  with  iron  force  and  comprehending 

"3 


in  itself  all  civilized  peoples.  Such  a  State 
would,  at  lejtst,make  war  between  States  im- 
possible, as  it  was  impossible  in  the  Roman 
Empire  of  the  Caesars,  and  as  Napoleon  I. 
dreamed  that  it  might  be  impossible  in  Eu- 
rope. Every  right-minded  man  must  in- 
wardly protest  against  a  view  which  thus 
robs  man  in  his  person  of  his  will  and  in 
his  politics  of  his  freedom ;  and  history  also 
teaches,  in  many  incidents,  the  emptiness 
and  folly  of  such  a  view.  There  are  some  per- 
sons who  believe  that  they  are  forced  to  ac- 
cept this  social  creed,  because  the  conception 
of  the  world  as  a  moral  order  does  not  seem 
to  them  sufficiently  proved.  To  such  per- 
sons, I  can  only  repeat  that  which  is  written 
above  the  entrance  to  Dante's  hell: 

"  Through  me  the  way  is  to  the  city  dolent; 
Through  me  the  way  is  to  eternal  dole ; 
Through  me  the  way  among  the  people  lost. 

All  hope  abandon^  ye  who  enter  in  !  "  6 

I  go  on  to  say,  however,  that  formal  proof 
of  this  moral  order  of  the  world  is  impos- 
sible. The  ancient  Hebrews  believed  that 
one  could  not  look  upon  the  face  of  God 
and  live,  and  Christianity,  in  its  turn,  offers 
us  no  formal  proof  of  the  character  of  God. 
The  only  path  that  leads  to  the  proof  of 
God  is  that  which  is  followed  in  the  Sermon 
114 


on  the  Mount:  "Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart:  for  they  shall  see  God."  Here  is  a 
proof  which  any  one  may  test  whose  heart 
is  pure;  while  from  those  who  merely  rea- 
son about  God's  order  of  the  world  He  hides 
Himself,  and  no  man  may  rend  by  force  the 
veil  that  covers  Him. 

If,  then,  one  begins  simply  to  live  as  in 
a  moral  world,  his  path  to  happiness  lies 
plainly  before  him.  The  door  is  open  and  no 
man  can  shut  it.  Within  his  heart  there  is  a 
certain  stability,  rest,  and  assurance,  which 
endure  and  even  gather  strength  amid  all 
outward  storms.  His  heart  becomes,  as  the 
Psalmist  says,  not  froward  or  fearful,  but 
"fixed."  The  only  peril  from  which  he  now 
has  to  guard  himself  is  the  peril  of  regarding 
too  seriously  the  changeful  impressions  and 
events  of  each  day.  His  desire  must  be  to 
live  resolutely  in  one  even  mood,  and  to  look 
for  his  daily  share  of  conscious  happiness  not 
in  his  emotions,  but  in  his  activity.  Then  for 
the  first  time  he  learns  what  work  really  is.  It 
is  no  more  to  him  a  fetish,  to  be  served  with 
anxious  fear;  it  is  no  longer  an  idol  through 
which  he  worships  himself;  it  is  simply  the 
natural  and  healthy  way  of  life,  which  frees 
him  not  only  from  the  many  spiritual  evils 
which  are  produced  by  idleness,  but  also 
from  numberless  physical  evils  which  have 

"5 


the  same  source.  Happy  work  is  the  health- 
iest of  human  conditions.  Honest  sweat  on 
the  brow  is  the  source  of  permanent  and 
self-renewing  power  and  of  light-hearted- 
ness;  and  these  together  make  one  really 
happy.  Indeed,  the  later  discoveries  of  med- 
ical science  are  teaching  us  that  physical 
health  is  secured  only  by  a  high  degree  of 
power  of  resistance  against  enemies  which 
life  cannot  avoid.  But  this  power  of  resist- 
ance— as  one  may  soon  discover — is  not  a 
merely  physical  capacity;  it  is  quite  as  much 
a  moral  quality  and  in  large  part  the  product 
of  moral  effort.  Here,  then,  are  two  secrets 
of  happiness  which  are  fundamentally  in- 
separable :  Life  directed  by  faith  in  the  per- 
manent moral  order  of  the  world,  and  Work 
done  in  that  same  faith.  Beyond  these  two, 
and  one  other  which  I  shall  mention  later, 
all  other  ways  of  happiness  are  secondary, 
and  indeed  all  else  comes  of  its  own  accord, 
according  to  one's  special  needs,  if  only  one 
holds  firmly  to  these  primary  sources  of 
spiritual  power. 

I  go  on  to  mention  a  few  of  these  sub- 
ordinate rules  for  happiness  which  may  be 
deduced  from  the  experience  of  life.  They 
are  mere  maxims  of  conduct  to  which  many 
others  might  be  added. 

We  need,  for  instance,  to  be  at  the  same 
116 


time  both  brave  and  humble.  That  is  the 
meaning  of  the  strange  word  of  the  Apostle: 
"  When  I  am  weak,  then  am  I  strong."  Either 
quality  alone  does  more  harm  than  good. 

Again,  one  must  not  make  pleasure  an 
end,  for  pleasure  comes  of  its  own  accord  in 
the  right  way  of  life,  and  the  simplest,  the 
cheapest,  and  the  most  inevitable  pleasures 
are  the  best. 

Again,  one  can  bear  all  troubles,  except 
two:  worry  and  sin. 

Further,  all  that  is  really  excellent  has  a 
small  beginning.  The  good  does  not  show 
its  best  at  once. 

Finally,  all  paths  which  it  is  best  to  follow, 
are  entered  by  open  doors. 

There  are,  it  must  be  added,  some  diffi- 
culties and  problems  which  thoughtful  peo- 
ple should  take  into  account  in  their  inter- 
course with  others.  One  must  not  hate  other 
people,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  idolize  them, 
or  take  their  opinions,  demands,  and  judg- 
ments too  seriously.  One  must  not  sit  in 
judgment  on  others,  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
submit  himself  to  their  judgment.  Onemust 
not  court  the  society  of  those  who  think 
much  of  themselves.  Indeed,  I  may  say  in 
general  that,  except  in  certain  callings,  one 
should  not  cultivate  acquaintance  with  great  t 
people,  or  fine  people,  with  the  rich,  or  the 

117 


fashionable,  but  so  far  as  possible,  without 
repelling  them,  should  avoid  their  company. 
Among  the  best  sources  of  happiness  is  the 
enjoyment  found  in  small  things  and  among 
humble  people;  and  many  a  bitter  experi- 
ence is  avoided  by  the  habit  of  an  unassum- 
ing life.  The  best  way  to  have  permanent 
peace  with  the  world  is  not  to  expect  much 
of  it;  not  to  be  afraid  of  it;  so  far  as  one  can 
without  self-deception  see  the  good  in  it; 
and  to  regard  the  evil  as  something  power- 
less and  temporary  which  will  soon  defeat 
itself. 

In  short,  I  may  in  conclusion  say,  that 
one  must  not  take  this  life  too  seriously. 
As  soon  as  we  live  above  it,  much  of  it  be- 
comes unimportant,  and  if  the  essentials  are 
secure  we  must  not  care  too  much  for  the 
subordinate.  Many  of  the  best  people  suffer 
from  this  magnifying  of  trifles,  and  espe- 
cially from  their  dependence  on  other  peo- 
ple's opinions;  and  this  lack  of  proportion 
makes  for  such  people  each  day's  work  much 
more  difficult  than  it  would  otherwise  be. 

I  have  said  that  these  practical  rules  might 
be  indefinitely  multiplied.  But  they  are  all, 
as  I  have  also  said,  in  reality  superfluous. 
For  if  the  soil  of  the  heart  is  fertilized,  as  I 
have  already  described,  then  these  fruits  of 
life  grow  out  of  it  spontaneously,  and  serve 
118 


the  special  needs  of  the  individual.  The  es- 
sential question  concerns  the  soil  itself,  with- 
out which  not  one  of  these  practical  fruits 
can  grow.  Thus  I  may  say  in  general  that 
I  take  no  great  interest  in  what  people  call 
systems  of  morals,  or  in  the  rules  of  conduct 
which  they  prescribe.  A  system  of  morals 
either  issues  spontaneously  from  a  habit  of 
mind,  which  in  its  turn  issues  from  a  view 
of  life,  attained  even  through  the  death  of 
one's  old  self;  or  else  such  a  system  is  noth- 
ing but  a  series  of  beautiful  maxims,  pleas- 
ant to  hear,  good  to  record  in  diaries  and 
calendars,  but  incapable  of  converting  the 
human  heart. 

I  do  not  care  to  multiply  the  material  for 
these  collections  of  maxims.  I  shall  only  add 
one  last  and  solemn  truth.  It  is  this, — that 
under  the  conditions  of  human  life  unhap- 
piness  also  is  necessary.  Indeed,  if  one  cared 
to  state  it  in  a  paradox,  he  might  say  that 
unhappiness  is  essential  to  happiness.  In  the 
first  place,  as  the  experience  of  life  plainly 
shows,  unhappiness  is  inevitable,  and  one 
must  in  one  way  or  another  reconcile  him- 
self to  it.  The  most  to  which  one  can  at- 
tain in  this  human  lot  is  perfect  adjustment 
to  one's  destiny ;  that  inward  and  permanent 
peace  which,  as  Isaiah  says,  is  like  an  "over- 
flowing stream."  It  is  this  peace  and  this 

119 


alone  which  Christ  promises  to  his  disciples, 
and  it  is  this,  and  no  outward  satisfaction, 
which  the  Apostle  Paul  expects  for  his  fel- 
low-Christians, when,  at  the  end  of  his  un- 
peaceful  life,  he  prays  that  "the  peace  of 
Christ  may  rule"  in  their  hearts. 

Thus,  for  real  happiness  the  outward  is- 
sue of  events  may  come  to  have  no  high  im- 
portance. Stoicism  endeavored  to  solve  the 
problem  of  happiness  by  developing  insen- 
sibility to  pain,  but  its  endeavor  was  vain. 
The  problem  of  happiness  is  to  be  solved 
in  quite  another  way.  One  must  accept  his 
suffering  and  unhappiness,  and  adjust  him- 
self to  them.  And  to  this  end  one  is,  first  of 
all,  helped  by  considering  what  unhappiness 
implies,  and  by  living  consistently  above  the 
sway  of  momentary  feeling.  For  unhappi- 
ness does  us  good  in  no  less  than  three  ways, 
— ways  which  are  cumulative  in  their  efFe6t. 
It  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  punishment,  the 
natural  consequence  of  our  deeds.  It  is,  thus 
considered,  a  part  of  those  deeds  themselves, 
and  therefore  must  follow  them  as  surely  as 
a  logical  consequence  follows  its  premise. 
Unhappiness  is,  secondly,  a  cleansing  pro- 
cess, waking  us  to  greater  seriousness  and 
greater  receptivity  to  truth.  Thirdly,  un- 
happiness recalls  us  to  self-examination  and 
fortifies  us  by  disclosing  what  is  our  own 
120 


strength,  and  what  is  God's  strength.  By  no 
other  experience  does  one  attain  that  spiri- 
tual courage  which  is  far  removed  from  self- 
confidence  and  very  near  to  humility.  In  a 
word,  it  must  be  said  that  the  deeper  life  of 
man  and  that  noble  bearing  which  we  remark 
in  some  people,  and  which  no  one,  whatever 
be  his  station,  can  falsely  assume,  are  attained 
only  through  faithful  endurance  of  misfor- 
tune. That  word  of  the  Apostle  Paul,  "We 
glory  in  tribulations,"  is,  like  many  of  his 
sayings,  absolutely  unintelligible  to  any  one 
who  has  not  experienced  what  renewal  of 
power  and  what  profound  happiness  may 
be  discovered  through  misfortune  itself.  It 
is  a  form  of  happiness  which  one  never  for- 
gets if  he  has  once  really  experienced  it. 

This,  then,  is  the  riddle  of  life  which  per- 
plexes many  a  man  and  turns  him  from  the 
right  way, — that  good  people  do  not  get  the 
good  things  which  might  seem  to  them  their 
due. 

"  The  prophet  host,  the  martyr  throng. 

Reckoned  the  world  as  dross, 
Despised  the  shame,  endured  the  wrong, 

Counting  their  gain,  their  loss; 
And  He,  to  whom  they  sang  their  song, 

Was  nailed  upon  the  cross" 

Suffering,  then,  lies  on  the  road  to  life,  and 
one  must  expect  to  meet  it  if  he  would  be 

121 


happy.  Many  a  person,  when  he  sees  this  lion 
in  his  path,  turns  about  and  contents  him- 
self with  something  less  than  happiness.  And 
yet  it  is  also  true,  as  experience  teaches,  that 
in  our  misfortunes,  as  in  our  enjoyments,  im- 
agination greatly  outruns  reality.  Our  pain 
is  seldom  as  great  as  our  imagination  pic- 
tures it.  Sorrow  is  often  the  gate  which  opens 
into  great  happiness.  Thus  the  true  life  calls 
for  a  certain  severity  of  dealing,  as  if  one 
should  say  to  himself:  "  You  may  like  to  do 
this  thing,  or  you  may  not  like  to  do  it,  but 
you  must  do  it";  and  true  education  rests 
on  these  two  foundation  stones, — love  of 
truth  and  courage  for  the  right.  Without 
them,  education  is  worthless.  It  is  like  the 
kingdom  of  God  which  is  to  be  taken  by  vio- 
lence, "And  the  violent  take  it  with  force." 
And  thus,  of  all  the  human  qualities  which 
lead  to  happiness,  certainly  the  most  essen- 
tial is  courage. 

We  look  back,  then,  finally,  over  what  has 
been  said,  and  repeat  what  a  gifted  authoress 
of  our  time,  Gisela  Grimm,  has  said  in  her 
drama  of  Old  Scotland : "  Happiness  is  com- 
munion with  God,  and  the  central  spiritual 
quality  which  attains  this  communion  is  cour- 
age." Other  happiness  than  this  is  not  to  be 
found  on  earth,  and  if  there  were  happiness 
without  these  traits,  it  would  not  be  the  hap- 

122 


piness  we  should  desire.  And  this  kind  of 
happiness  is  real.  It  is  not,  like  every  other 
dream  of  happiness,  an  illusion  from  which 
sooner  or  later  one  must  wake.  It  does  not 
issue  from  our  achievements  or  our  compul- 
sions. On  the  contrary,  when  we  have  once 
accepted  and  made  our  own  the  view  of  life 
which  I  have  described,  and  have  ceased  to 
look  about  us  for  some  other  view,  then  hap- 
piness comes  to  us  by  the  way.  It  is  a  stream 
ofinwardpeace;broadeningaswegrowolder, 
first  enriching  our  own  souls  and  then  pour- 
ing itself  forth  to  bless  other  lives. 

This  is  the  goal  to  which  our  life  must 
attain,  if  it  hope  for  happiness,  and  to  this 
goal  it  can  attain.  Indeed,  if  once  the  first 
decision  be  made,  and  the  first  steps  taken, 
then,  as  Dante  says: 

..."  This  mount  is  such,  that  ever 

At  the  beginning  down  below  'tis  tiresome. 

And  aye  the  more  one  climbs,  the  less  it  hurts. 

Therefore,  when  it  shall  seem  so  pleasant  to  thee, 

That  going  up  shall  be  to  thee  as  easy 

As  going  down  the  current  in  a  boat, 

Then  at  this  pathway's  ending  thou  wilt  be"  7 

Below  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  the  fixed 
decision  is  demanded.  There  one  must  ab- 
solutely determine  to  pay  any  price  which 
shall  be  asked  for  the  happiness  which  is  real. 
No  further  step  can  be  taken  without  this 

123 


first  resolution,  and  by  no  easier  path  has 
any  one  attained  the  happiness  he  sought. 
Goethe,  the  teacher  of  those  who  sought 
happiness  in  other  ways,  admitted — as  I 
have  said — that  in  seventy-five  years  of  life 
he  had  had  four  weeks  of  content,  and  no 
one  who  has  followed  him  can,  at  the  end  of 
life,  when  asked  what  his  conscience  testifies, 
make  better  reply.  We,  on  the  other  hand, 
should  be  able, at  the  last,  to  say:  "The  days 
of  our  years  are  threescore  years  and  ten, 
and  though  we  be  so  strong  as  to  come  to 
fourscore  years,  and  though  there  has  been 
much  labor  and  sorrow,  still  it  has  been  a  life 
of  happiness." 


124 


VII.  THE  MEANING  OF  LIFE 


VII.  THE  MEANING  OF  LIFE 

HIS  is  the  question  of  ques- 
tions. A  man  must  be  wholly 
superficial  or  wholly  animal 
who  does  not  at  some  time  in 
his  life  ask  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  his  life.  Yet,  sad  to 
say,  most  men  end  their  lives 
without  finding  an  answer.  Some  repeat,  in 
their  darker  moods,  the  melancholy  confes- 
sion of  a  mediaeval  philosopher:  "I  live,  but 
know  not  how  long;  I  die,  but  know  not 
when ;  I  depart,  but  know  not  whither.  How 
is  it  possible  for  me  to  fancy  myself  happy!" 
Others  drive  from  their  minds  these  morbid 
reflections  which,  as  they  say, "lead  to  noth- 
ing," and  repeat:  "Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for 
to-morrow  we  die." 

Even  among  what  we  call  cultivated  peo- 
ple, where  education  has  made  a  profounder 
view  accessible,  the  number  of  those  who 
find  the  meaning  of  life  is  by  no  means  large. 
After  some  vain  and  superficial  attempts  to 
save  themselves  they  yield  at  last,  and  often 
far  too  soon,  to  the  pitiful  programme  of 
self-indulgence.  And  what  is  their  next  step  ? 
It  is  to  pursue  consistently  this  programme. 
But  there  is  not  long  left  the  health  which  is 
necessary  for  this  life  of  eating  and  drinking, 
and  then  in  throngs  they  make  their  pil- 

127 


grimages,  the  women  at  the  front,  to  Pastor 
Kneipp,  or  Dr.  Metzger,  or  some  other  in- 
fallible healer,  hoping  for  a  quick  restoration 
and  a  second  chance  to  waste  their  lives. 

Still  others  there  are  who  have  not  the 
means  to  adopt  this  plan  of  life.  Many  of 
these  seek  a  substitute  for  it  in  some  form 
of  social  scrambling;  or  if  this  fails,  com- 
mit themselves  to  the  new  doctrine  of  eco- 
nomics, according  to  which  the  only  real 
problem  of  life  is  the  "stomach  problem," 
and  which  teaches  that  in  satisfying  the 
stomach  the  social  ideals  of  the  race  will  be 
also  satisfied. 

Still  others  there  are  who  are  more  subtle 
and  more  critical.  They  have  come  to  see 
how  impracticable  are  all  these  schemes  to 
redeem  life  from  its  troubles.  Thus,  after 
they  have  tried  many  half-way  measures, 
they  come  at  last  to  the  confession  of  the 
wisest  of  kings:  "Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is 
vanity."  They  commit  themselves  to  scepti- 
cism concerning  any  meaning  in  life  and  to 
the  worship  of  non-existence.  To  them  the 
end  of  life  is  to  be  Nirvana,  annihilation, 
the  forgetfulness  of  thatwhich  life  has  been ; 
and  they  fancy  that  they  have  attained  a 
very  noble  attitude  toward  life  when,  after 
many  years  of  sharp  contention  with  their 
healthy  human  nature,  which  steadily  pro- 
128 


tests  against  these  subtle  negations,  they  are 
able  at  last  to  repeat  the  words  of  the  Hin- 
doo sage: 

"  Through  birth  and  rebirth's  endless  round 
I  ran  and  sought ,  but  never  found 
Who  framed  and  built  this  house  of  clay. 
What  misery! — birth  for  ay  and  ay! 

O  builder  !  thee  at  last  I  see  ! 
Ne'er  shalt  thou  build  again  for  me. 

Thy  rafters  all  are  broken  now. 
Demolished  lies  thy  ridgepole,  low. 

My  heart,  demolished  too,  I  ween, 
An  end  of  all  desire  hath  seen."8 

Such  is  the  final  word  of  their  philosophy. 
Neither  light  nor  hope  is  left  for  human  life. 
He  does  the  best  who  earliest  recognizes  the 
hopelessness  of  life  and  hastens  to  its  end. 
Human  nature,  however,  is  so  abound- 
ing in  life  and  so  eager  for  life  that  except 
in  those  transitory  and  morbid  conditions 
which  we  have  come  to  describe  as  fin  de 
sucle  moods,  it  is  never  long  content  to  inter- 
pret experience  in  terms  of  universal  bank- 
ruptcy. On  the  contrary,  it  insists  that  the 
problem  of  philosophy  must  be  in  the  fu- 
ture, as  it  has  been  in  the  past,  the  shedding 
of  light  on  the  meaning  of  life.  It  is  a  prob- 
lem which  philosophy  has  often  answered 
with  mere  phrases,  which  have  brought  no 

129 


meaning  or  comfort  to  the  troubled  heart 
of  man,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  since 
the  climax  of  this  hollow  formalism  was 
reached  in  Hegel,  there  has  been  a  natural 
distrust  of  philosophy. 

And  what  is  it  in  this  speculative  phi- 
losophy which  creates  this  distrust?  It  is  its 
attempt  to  regard  the  universe  as  self-ex- 
planatory. Here,  even  at  the  present  time, 
is  one  of  the  fundamental  propositions  of 
most  philosophizing,  against  which  no  argu- 
ment may  be  permitted.  It  seems  an  essen- 
tial assumption  of  philosophy ;  since  if  other 
ways  of  explanation  of  the  universe  were 
superadded,  philosophy  as  an  independent 
science  would  seem  to  be  superfluous.  Is 
it  certain,  however,  that  the  subordination 
of  philosophy  thus  apprehended  would  be, 
after  all,  a  great  misfortune?  What  the  hu- 
man mind  is  concerned  about  is  not  the  per- 
petuation of  philosophy  as  a  science,  but  the 
discovery  of  some  meaning  in  life  itself,  its 
destiny,  its  past  and  its  future;  and  one  is 
quite  justified  in  losing  interest  in  any  sci- 
ence which  does  not  in  the  end  contribute 
to  the  interpretation  and  amelioration  of  hu- 
man life.  We  have  a  right  to  demand  of  phi- 
losophy that  she  contribute  to  this  end,  and 
that  she  shall  speak  also  with  some  degree 
of  simplicity  of  language,  dismissing  the  at- 
130 


tempt  to  satisfy  with  empty  and  unintelli- 
gible phrases  the  hunger  of  the  soul  for  fun- 
damental truth. 

And  yet,  from  the  time  of  Plato  to  that  of 
Hegel,  Schopenhauer,  and  Nietzsche,  the 
making  of  phrases  has  been  the  special  busi- 
ness of  philosophy.  It  has  created  a  language 
of  its  own,  which  separates  it  as  by  an  im- 
penetrable hedge  from  the  region  of  men's 
common  talk;  and  when  one  translates  such 
language  into  the  familiar  speech  of  his  own 
time,  where  words  have  a  definite  meaning, 
it  is  as  though  he  withdrew  from  a  veiled 
goddess  the  disguise  which  gave  her  all  her 
power  and  dignity.  The  fact  is  that  abstract 
philosophy  has  never  explained  to  any  satis- 
faction either  the  existence  or  the  develop- 
ment of  the  world;  still  less  has  philosophy 
brought  into  unity  these  two  conceptions, 
and  interpreted  them  through  a  single  cause. 
On  the  contrary,  the  history  of  philosophy 
has  been  a  history  of  words,  conveying  no 
real  interpretation,  and  it  would  seem  as  if  in 
the  thousands  of  years  of  philosophic  spec- 
ulation either  some  interpretation  should 
have  been  attained  or  that  there  should  at 
last  be  heard  the  confession  that  philosophy 
can  throw  no  further  light  on  these  funda- 
mental facts.  Here,  it  would  seem,  we  should 
reach  the  end  of  philosophy,  and  should  as- 

'31 


sume  that  the  first  cause  of  things  is  un- 
knowable. 

Philosophy,  however,  has  seldom  con- 
sented to  this  confession  of  impotence.  On 
the  contrary,  it  has  repeatedly  reverted  to 
some  absolute  assumption  of  an  adequate 
cause  which  lies  behind  the  possibility  of 
proof.  Sometimes  it  is  the  assumption  of 
a  vital  Substance,  one  and  unchangeable; 
sometimes  it  is  the  assumption  of  an  infinite 
concourse  of  atoms.  Yet  such  conceptions 
are  in  the  highest  degree  elusive,  and  force 
us  to  inquire  whence  such  substance,  be  it 
simple  or  infinitely  divided,  comes,  how  it 
becomes  quickened  with  life,  and  how  it  im- 
parts the  life  it  has.  The  transition  from  such 
mere  movements  of  atoms  to  phenomena 
of  feeling  or  thought  or  will,  makes  a  leap 
in  nature  which  no  man  has  in  the  remotest 
degree  proposed  to  explain.  On  the  con- 
trary, instead  of  bridging  such  a  chasm  the 
most  famous  inquirers  simply  record  the 
melancholy  confession:  "Ignoramus,  igno- 
rabimus." 

Sometimes,  again,  philosophy  has  taught, 
with  many  and  large  words,  that  the  mean- 
ing of  the  world  resides  in  an  opposition  be- 
tween Being  and  Not-being.  This  is  no  new 
doctrine  and  it  is  at  least  intelligent  and  in- 
telligible. Yet  what  we  really  need  to  know 
132 


concerns  Being  alone.  It  is  the  world  that 
lies  before  our  eyes  that  interests  us.  How 
has  this  world  come  to  be,  we  ask,  or  is  it 
perhaps  a  mere  illusion,  the  mirage  of  our 
own  thought,  with  no  reality  but  that  which 
our  own  minds  assign,  as  people  in  their  de- 
spair have  sometimes  believed  it  to  be?  As 
for  Non-existence,  what  rational  interest  has 
this  for  us?  Is  it  even  an  intelligible  concep- 
tion ?  Does  it  not  rather  set  before  us  a  con- 
tradiction which  we  may  conceive,  but  can 
never  verify,  and  which  has  for  life  itself  no 
significance  at  all? 

Still  other  philosophers  invite  us  to  turn 
from  the  outward  world  whose  final  cause 
thus  eludes  us, and  to  consider  our  own  self- 
conscious  nature,  the  Ego,  concerning  which 
no  one  can  doubt  and  which  no  philosophy 
is  needed  to  prove.  Yet  no  sooner  does  this 
poor  Ego  issue  from  its  own  self-conscious- 
ness and,  as  it  were,  take  a  step  into  the  out- 
ward world,  as  though  to  interpret  through 
itself  the  meaning  of  life,  than  it  becomes 
aware  that  some  further  and  external  cause 
is  necessary  to  explain  even  the  Ego  to  it- 
self. 

Finally,  philosophy,  in  its  search  for  the 
meaning  of  life,  bows  to  the  authority  of  nat- 
ural science  and  proposes  to  interpret  experi- 
ence through  some  doctrine  of  development, 

'33 


or  evolution,  or  heredity,  or  natural  selec- 
tion. All  that  exists,  it  announces,  comes  of 
some  primitive  protoplasm,  or  even  of  some 
single  primitive  cell.  Yet  still  there  presses 
the  ancient  question  how  such  cells  may  have 
been  made  and  how  there  has  been  imparted 
to  them  their  infinite  capacity  for  life  and 
growth.  It  is  the  question  which  the  keen 
and  practical  Napoleon  asked  as  he  stood  a 
century  ago  under  the  mystery  of  the  stars 
in  Egypt.  Turning  to  the  scholar  Monge,  he 
said : "  Qui  a  fait  tout  cela? "  To  such  a  ques- 
tion neither  abstract  philosophy  nor  natural 
science  has  as  yet  given  and,  so  far  as  we  can 
judge,  will  ever  give  any  answer. 

To  interpret  the  world,  then,  by  itself  or 
through  itself  is  impossible,  for  there  is  in 
the  world  itself  no  final  cause.  If  the  mind 
of  man  is  the  final  interpreter  of  the  world, 
then  it  becomes  itself  the  God  it  seeks,  and 
the  philosophers  become  the  object  of  a  kind 
of  worship.  Here,  indeed,  is  the  outcome  of 
much  philosophy  to-day.  If,  however,  the 
philosophers  have  any  power  of  observation, 
they  soon  discover  one  positive  barrier  to 
this  excessive  self-importance.  It  is  the  hum- 
bling consciousness  of  limitation  in  their  own 
powers  and  in  their  own  hold  on  life  itself; 
the  inevitable  impression, which  no  human 
praise  can  remove,  of  their  own  defects;  the 

'34 


impossibility  of  finding  a  meaning  even  for 
their  own  lives  within  those  lives  themselves. 
Here  is  the  weakness  of  that  pantheism 
which,  from  the  time  of  Spinoza,  has  so 
largely  controlled  speculative  thought,  and, 
from  the  time  of  Hegel,  Schopenhauer,  and 
Goethe,  has  been  the  prevailing  creed  of 
cultivated  people,  so  far  as  they  concern 
themselves  with  philosophy.  No  form  of 
philosophy  is  so  demoralizing  in  its  ethical 
consequences  as  this.  It  breeds  contempt  of 
moral  activity ;  it  forfeits  the  right  of  the  will 
to  oppose  what  is  evil  and  to  create  what  is 
good.  Sooner  or  later  the  corollary  of  such  a 
faith  appears  in  some  form  of  superstition, 
crude  but  compelling, — like  hypnotism  or 
spiritualism,  or  the  vulgar  and  noisy  substi- 
tutes for  religion  which  are  now  so  conspicu- 
ous. Thus  the  cycle  of  philosophical  specu- 
lation fulfils  itself,  and  returns  after  centuries 
to  the  same  point  at  which  it  began.  The 
final  form  of  truth  may  come  to  be,  not  the 
systems  of  abstract  philosophy  or  of  specu- 
lative theology,  which  have  proved  so  mis- 
leading and  unsatisfying,  but  simply  a  sum- 
ming-up of  the  experience  of  mankind,  as 
it  has  affected  human  destiny  through  the 
history  of  the  world;  and  in  this  experience 
we  have  a  philosophy  better  than  abstrac- 
tions, and  always  within  one's  reach. 

135 


And  where  do  we  find  this  philosophy 
which  discovers  the  meaning  of  life  not 
through  speculative  reasoning  but  through 
the  interpretation  of  experience,  and  which 
observes  in  experience  a  spiritual  power 
creating  and  maintaining  both  the  world 
and  the  individual?  This  is  the  view  of  life 
which  had  its  origin  in  Israel  and  was  ful- 
filled in  Christianity.  It  cannot  indeed  be 
called  in  the  technical  sense  a  philosophy, 
for  philosophy  would  feel  itself  called  upon 
to  explain  still  further  that  Cause  which  it 
thus  reached.  Theology  as  a  positive  science 
meets  the  same  fate  as  philosophy.  It  can- 
not prove  its  God,  as  philosophy  cannot  in- 
terpret the  world  or  human  life  in  or  through 
themselves.  What  people  call  ontology,  or 
the  proofs  of  the  being  of  God,  is  no  real 
science,  and  convinces  none  but  him  who  is 
already  pledged.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  God 
to  be  beyond  our  interpretations.  A  god 
who  could  be  explained  would  not  be  God, 
and  a  man  who  could  explain  God  would 
not  be  man.  The  legitimate  aim  of  life  is  not 
to  see  God  as  He  is,  but  to  see  the  affairs  of 
this  world  and  of  human  life  somewhat  as 
God  might  see  them.  It  is,  therefore,  no  new 
thing  to  question  whether  theology  can  be 
fairly  called  a  science  at  all.  On  this  point, 
for  instance,  the  evidence  of  Christ  is  in  the 
136 


negative,  and  the  theological  speculations 
of  Christians  are,  in  fact,  not  derived  from 
him.  They  proceed,  on  the  contrary,  from 
the  Apostle  Paul,  who  applied  to  the  prov- 
ing of  Christianity  the  subtlety  of  theologi- 
cal training  which  he  had  received  under 
Judaism;  and  even  in  his  case  it  must  be 
remembered  that  his  teaching  was  directed 
to  convince  those  who  had  been,  like  him, 
trained  in  the  theology  of  Israel. 

It  must  not  be  imagined,  therefore,  that 
the  final  Cause  of  the  world  which  we  call 
God,  can  be  philosophically  proved.  Faith 
in  God  is  first  of  all  a  personal  experience. 
Nothing  should  disguise  this  proposition, 
though  it  is  the  stone  of  offence  where  many 
stumble  who  are  seeking  an  adequate  mean- 
ing of  life.  Nothing  can  be  done  to  help 
those  who  refuse  this  experience.  No  argu- 
ment can  convince  them.  There  is  no  philo- 
sophical refutation  of  a  determined  atheism. 

Here  is  an  admission  which  must  gravely 
affect  not  only  our  religious  and  philosophi- 
cal relations  with  others,  but  even  our  prac- 
tical and  political  life.  Here  is  the  funda- 
mental difference  between  people  of  the  same 
nation,  or  condition,  or  time,  or  even  family. 
In  other  differences  of  opinion  there  may 
be  found  some  common  ground,  but  be- 
tween faith  and  denial  there  is  no  common 

137 


ground,  because  we  are  dealing  with  a  ques- 
tion of  the  will  and  because  the  human  will 
is  free.  The  saying  of  Tertullian,  that  the  hu- 
man soul  is  naturally  Christian,  is  in  a  literal 
sense  quite  untrue.  Every  man  who  reflects 
on  his  responsibilities  recognizes  that  he  is 
not  naturally  Christian.  He  is,  at  the  most, 
only  possibly  Christian,  as  Tertullian  per- 
haps meant  to  say.  He  is  capable  of  becom- 
ing Christian  through  the  experience  of  life. 
Atheism  and  Christianity  are  equally  acces- 
sible to  the  nature  of  man. 

Faith  in  God,  then,  is  a  form  of  experience, 
not  a  form  of  proof.  If  experience  were  as  un- 
fruitful as  proof,  then  faith  in  God  would  be 
nothing  more  than  a  nervous  condition,  and 
the  answer  of  Festus — "Paul,  thou  art  be- 
side thyself!" — would  be  the  just  estimate 
of  a  faith  like  that  of  Paul.  Each  period 
of  history  has  in  fact  produced  many  a  Fes- 
tus, sedulously  guarding  his  reason  and  con- 
science against  all  that  cannot  be  proved. 
Other  faith,  however,  than  that  which  pro- 
ceeds from  experience  is  not  expected  by  God 
from  any  man;  while  to  every  man,  in  his 
own  experience  and  in  the  witness  of  history, 
this  faith  is  abundantly  offered.  There  is, 
therefore,  in  the  refusal  of  faith  a  confession, 
not  merely  of  intellectual  error,  but  of  moral 
neglect;  and  many  a  man  who  has  surren- 
138 


dered  his  faith  would  be  slow  to  confess  to 
others  how  well  aware  he  is  that  the  fault  is 
his  own. 

Here,  then,  is  the  first  step  toward  the 
discovery  of  the  meaning  of  life.  It  is  an  act 
of  will,  a  moral  venture,  a  listening  to  experi- 
ence. No  man  can  omit  this  initial  step,  and 
no  man  can  teach  another  the  lesson  which 
lies  in  his  own  experience.  The  prophets  of 
the  Old  Testament  fou  nd  an  accurate  expres- 
sion for  this  act  of  will  when  they  described 
it  as  a  "turning,"  and  they  went  on  to  assure 
their  people  of  the  perfect  inward  peace  and 
the  sense  of  confidence  which  followed  from 
this  act.  "Look  unto  me,  and  be  ye  saved," 
says  Isaiah ; "  I  ncline  your  ear,  and  come  unto 
me:  hear,  and  your  soul  shall  live."  From 
that  time  to  this,  thousands  of  those  who 
have  thus  changed  the  direction  of  their  wills 
have  entered  into  the  same  sense  of  peace; 
while  no  man  who  has  thus  given  his  will  to 
God  has  ever  felt  himself  permanently  be- 
wildered or  forsaken. 

Here,  also,  in  this  free  act  of  the  will,  is 
attained  that  sense  of  liberty  which  in  both 
the  Old  and  New  Testaments  is  described 
as  "righteousness."  It  is  a  sense  of  initiative 
and  power,  as  though  one  were  not  wholly 
the  subject  of  arbitrary  grace,  but  had  a  cer- 
tain positive  companionship  with  God.  It  is 


what  the  Old  Testament  calls  a  "covenant," 
involving  mutual  rights  and  obligations.  No 
man,  however,  who  accepts  this  relation  is 
inclined  to  urge  overmuch  his  own  rights, 
knowing  as  he  well  does  that  his  part  in  the 
covenant  falls  ever  short  and  is  even  then 
made  possible  only  through  his  steady  con- 
fidence in  God.  Grace,  unearned  and  unde- 
served, he  still  knows  that  he  needs;  yet 
behind  this  grace  lies  ever  the  initiative  of 
personal "  turning,"  and  the  free  assertion  of 
the  will  as  the  first  step  toward  complete 
redemption.  To  say  with  Paul  that  a  man  is 
"justified  by  faith,"  or  to  emphasize  as  Lu- 
ther does,  even  more  strongly,  the  province 
of  grace,  is  to  run  some  risk  of  forgetting 
the  constant  demand  for  an  initial  step  of 
one's  own. 

This  step  once  taken,  both  the  world  in 
which  one  lives  and  one's  own  personal  life 
get  a  clear  and  intelligible  meaning.  On  the 
one  hand  stands  the  free  will  of  God,  creating 
and  directing  the  world,  not  restricted  by  the 
so-called  laws  of  nature,  yet  a  God  of  order, 
whose  desires  are  not  arbitrary  or  lawless. 
On  the  other  hand  is  the  free  will  of  man, 
with  the  free  choice  before  it  of  obedience 
or  refusal; — a  will,  therefore,  which  may 
choose  the  wrong  though  it  may  not  thereby 
thwart  the  Divine  purpose.  The  evil-doer, 
140 


if  impenitent,  must  suffer,  but  his  evil  is  con- 
verted into  good.  In  such  a  philosophy  what 
is  a  wisely  adjusted  human  life?  It  is  a  life  of 
free  obedience  to  the  eternal  and  unchange- 
able laws  of  God;  a  life,  therefore,  which  at- 
tains through  self-discipline  successive  steps 
of  spiritual  power.  Life  on  other  terms  brings 
on  a  progressive  decline  of  spiritual  power 
and  with  this  a  sense  of  self-condemnation. 
What  is  the  happy  life  ?  It  is  a  life  of  conscious 
harmony  with  this  Divine  order  of  the  world, 
a  sense,  that  is  to  say,  of  God's  companion- 
ship. And  wherein  is  the  profoundest  un- 
happiness?  It  is  in  the  sense  of  remoteness 
from  God,  issuing  into  incurable  restlessness 
of  heart,  and  finally  into  incapacity  to  make 
one's  life  fruitful  or  effective. 

If,  then,  we  are  at  times  tempted  to  fancy 
that  all  this  undemonstrable  experience  is 
unreal,  or  metaphysical,  or  purposeless,  or 
imaginary,  it  is  best  to  deal  with  such  re- 
turning scepticism  much  as  we  deal  with  the 
selfish  or  mean  thoughts  which  we  are  trying 
to  outgrow.  Let  all  these  hindrances  to  the 
higher  life  bequietly  but  firmly  repelled.  The 
better  world  we  enter  is  indeed  entered  by 
faith  and  not  by  sight;  but  this  faith  grows 
more  confident  and  more  supporting,  until 
it  is  like  an  inward  faculty  of  sight  itself.  To 
substitute  for  this  a  world  of  the  outward 

141 


senses  is  to  find  no  meaning  in  life  which  can 
convey  confidence  and  peace.  It  is  but  to  em- 
bitterevery  noble  and  thoughtful  nature  with 
restless  doubts  from  which  there  is  no  escape. 

Such  was  religion  as  it  disclosed  itself  to 
the  early  Hebrews.  Soon,  indeed,  that  reli- 
gion was  overgrown  by  the  formalism  which 
converted  its  practical  teaching  into  mere 
prohibitions  or  mere  mechanism;  but  behind 
these  abuses  of  later  history  lay  the  primitive 
simplicity  of  spiritual  liberty  and  life.  Such 
also  was  the  historical  beginning  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion.  The  mission  of  Christ,  like  that 
of  each  genuine  reformer,  was  to  recall  men 
to  their  original  consciousness  of  God;  and 
it  is  perhaps  the  greatest  tragedy  of  history, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  best  proof  of  the 
free  will  of  man,  that  the  Hebrew  people, 
to  whom  Christ  announced  that  he  was  ex- 
pressly sent,  could  not,  as  a  whole,  bring 
themselves  to  obey  his  call.  They  were  held 
in  bondage  by  their  accumulated  formalism, 
as  many  a  man  has  been  ever  since.  They 
could  not  rise  to  the  thought  of  a  worship 
which  was  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  Had  they, 
with  their  extraordinary  gifts,  been  able  to 
hear  Christ's  message,  they  would  have  be- 
come the  dominant  nation  of  the  world. 

And  what  is  to  be  said  of  those  Gentile 
peoples  who  listened  more  willingly  to  the 
142 


message  of  Christ,  those  "wild  olive  trees," 
as  St.  Paul  calls  them,  which  were  grafted 
on  the  "broken  branches"?  They  also  have 
had  the  same  history.  They  also,  in  their 
own  way,  have  become  enslaved  by  the  same 
formalism;  and  they  also  must  regain  their 
liberty  through  the  return  of  individual  souls 
to  a  personal  experience  of  the  method  of 
Christ. 

Here  is  the  evidence  of  the  indestructible 
truth  and  the  extraordinary  vitality  of  the 
Christian  religion.  To  subdue  its  opponents 
was  but  a  slight  achievement ;  for  every  posi- 
tive truth  must  in  the  end  prevail.  Its  real 
conflict  has  been  with  the  forces  of  accumu- 
lated opinion,  of  superfluous  learning,  of 
sickly  fancies  among  its  friends,  and  with  the 
intellectual  slavery  to  which  these  influences 
have  led.  Through  these  obstructions  the 
light  and  power  of  genuine  Christianity  have 
broken  like  sunshine  through  a  mist;  and 
with  such  Christianity  have  appeared  in  his- 
tory the  political  liberty  on  which  the  perma- 
nence of  civilization  rests,  the  philosophical 
truth  which  solves  the  problems  of  human 
life,  and  the  present  comfort  for  the  human 
heart,  beyond  the  power  of  misfortune  to 
disturb. 

We  reach,  then,  a  philosophy  of  life  which 
is  not  speculative  or  fanciful,  but  rests  on 

143 


the  fads  of  history.  This  is  "the  way,  the 
truth,  and  the  life."  Better  is  it  for  one  if  he 
finds  this  "way  "without  too  many  compan- 
ions or  professional  guides,  for  many  a  re- 
ligious teaching,  designed  to  show  the  way, 
has  repelled  young  lives  from  following  it. 
As  one  follows  the  way,  he  gains,  first  of  all, 
courage,  so  that  he  dares  to  go  on  in  his 
search.  He  goes  still  further,  and  the  way 
opens  into  the  assurance  that  life,  with  all 
its  mystery,  is  not  lived  in  vain.  He  pushes 
on,  and  the  way  issues  into  health,  not  only 
of  the  soul  but  even  of  the  body ;  for  bodily 
health  is  more  dependent  on  spiritual  con- 
dition than  spiritual  condition  on  bodily 
health;  and  modern  medicine  can  never  re- 
store and  assure  health  to  the  body  if  it  limit 
its  problem  to  physical  relief  alone.  Nor  is 
even  this  the  end  of  the  "way"  ofChrist.lt 
leads  not  only  to  personal  health,  but  to  social 
health  as  well;  not  by  continually  inciting 
the  masses  to  some  social  programme,  but 
by  strengthening  the  individuals  of  which 
the  masses  are  made.  Here  alone  is  positive 
social  redemption;  while  the  hopes  that  turn 
to  other  ways  of  social  reform  are  for  the  most 
part  deceptive  dreams. 

Finally,  the  way  is  sure  to  lead  every  life 
which  follows  it,  and  is  willing  to  pay  the 
price  for  the  possession  of  truth,  into  the 
144 


region  of  spiritual  peace.  No  other  way  of 
life  permits  this  comprehensive  sense  of 
peace  and  assurance.  Apart  from  it  we  have 
but  the  unremitting  and  bitter  struggle  for 
existence,  the  enforcement  of  national  self- 
seeking,  the  temporary  victory  of  the  strong, 
the  hell  of  the  weak  and  the  poor;  yet,  at 
the  same  time,  no  peace  even  for  the  strong, 
who  have  their  little  day  of  power,  but  live 
in  daily  fear  that  this  power  will  fail  and 
leave  them  at  the  mercy  of  the  wolves,  their 
neighbors.  Meantime,  on  every  page  of  the 
world's  history,  and  in  the  experience  of 
daily  life,  God  writes  the  opposite  teaching, 
that  out  of  the  midst  of  evil  issues  at  last  the 
mastery  of  the  good;  and  that,  in  modern  as 
in  ancient  time,  the  meek  both  inherit  and 
control  the  earth.  History  is  not  a  record  of 
despotic  control  like  that  of  a  Roman  Caesar, 
effective  and  intelligent,  but  necessarily  in- 
volving a  progressive  degeneration  of  his 
subjects;  it  is  a  story  of  progressive  amelio- 
ration in  moral  standards  and  achievements ; 
and  this  fact  of  moral  progress  is  the  most 
convincing  proof  of  the  being  of  God. 

Thus  it  happens  that  to  one  who  loves 
liberty  and  who  reads  history,  the  logic  of 
thought  leads  to  faith  in  God.  Without  such 
faith  it  is  difficult  to  believe  in  human  prog- 
ress through  freedom,  or  to  view  the  move- 


ment  of  the  modern  world  with  hope.  With- 
out such  faith  the  popular  agitations  of  the 
time  are  disquieting  and  alarming,  and  the 
only  refuge  of  the  spirit  is  in  submission  to 
some  human  authority  either  of  Church  or 
of  State.  Without  such  faith  it  would  be  in- 
creasingly impossible  to  maintain  a  demo- 
cratic republic  like  Switzerland  in  the  midst 
of  the  autocratic  monarchies  of  Europe. 
With  profound  truthfulness  the  Swiss  Par- 
liament at  Aarau  opened  its  session  with 
these  simple  words:  "Our  help  is  in  the 
Lord  our  God,  who  hath  made  heaven  and 
earth."  And,  finally, without  political  liberty 
there  would  be  but  a  brief  survival  of  reli- 
gious liberty  itself,  and  it  too  would  be  sup- 
planted by  a  condition  of  servitude.  A  State- 
Church  is  a  self-contradictory  expression. 
State  and  Church  alike  need  self-govern- 
ment for  self-development.  A  free  Church 
and  a  free  State  are  not  only  most  represen- 
tative of  Christianity,  but  are  beyond  doubt 
the  forms  of  Christian  citizenship  which  are 
to  survive.  Not  compulsion,  nor  any  form 
of  authority,  will  in  the  end  dominate  the 
world,  but  freedom,  in  all  its  forms  and  its 
effects.  The  end  of  social  evolution  is  to  be 
the  free  obedience  of  men  and  nations  to  the 
moral  order  of  the  world. 

And  yet,  we  must  repeat,  the  secret  of  true 
146 


progress  is  not  to  be  found  in  an  achieve- 
ment of  philosophy,  oraprocess  of  thought; 
but  in  a  historical  process,a  living  experience. 
To  each  man's  will  is  offered  the  choice  of 
this  way  which  leads  to  personal  recognition 
of  the  truth  and  personal  experience  of  hap- 
piness. To  each  nation  the  same  choice  is  pre- 
sented. No  philosophy  or  religion  has  real 
significance  which  does  not  lead  this  way.  No 
man  can  rightly  call  it  mere  misfortune,  or 
confess  his  unbelief  with  sentimental  regret, 
when  he  misses  the  way  and  forfeits  his  peace 
of  mind.  His  pessimism  is  not,  as  he  fondly 
thinks,  a  mark  of  distinction;  it  is,  on  the 
contrary,  as  a  rule,  an  evidence  of  moral  de- 
fect or  weakness,  and  should  stir  in  him  a 
positive  moral  scorn. 

What  is  it,  then,  which  makes  one  unable 
to  find  the  way  of  Jesus?  It  is,  for  the  most 
part,  either  unwillingness  to  make  a  serious 
effort  to  find  it,  or  disinclination  to  accept 
the  consequences  of  the  choice.  To  take  up 
with  some  philosophical  novelty,  involving 
no  demand  upon  the  will;  to  surrender  one- 
self to  the  pleasures  of  life;  to  attach  oneself, 
with  superficial  and  unreflecting  devotion,  to 
some  form  of  Church  or  sect; — how  much 
easier  is  anyone  of  these  refuges  of  the  mind 
than  serious  meditation  on  the  great  prob- 
lems of  life  and  the  growth  of  a  personal  con- 

«47 


viction!  And  yet,  how  unmistakable  have 
been  the  joy,  and  the  strength  to  live  and  to 
die,  and  the  peace  of  mind  and  sense  of  right 
adjustment  to  the  Universe,  which  those 
have  found  who  have  followed  with  patience 
the  way  I  have  described!  In  the  testimony 
of  such  souls  there  is  complete  accord.  Con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  every  heart  de- 
sires the  satisfactions  which  this  way  of  life 
can  give,  and  without  these  satisfactions  of 
the  spirit  no  other  possessions  or  pleasures 
can  insure  spiritual  peace. 

What  infinite  pains  are  taken  by  people 
in  the  modern  world  for  the  sake  of  their 
health  of  body  or  the  welfare  of  their  souls! 
For  health  of  body  they  go  barefoot  in  the 
daytime  or  sleep  in  wet  sheets  at  night;  for 
the  good  of  their  souls  they  go  on  pilgrim- 
ages and  into  retreats,  or  submit  themselves 
to  other  forms  of  spiritual  exercise.  They  go 
even  farther  in  their  pious  credulity.  There 
is  not  a  hardship  or  a  folly,  or  a  risk  of  body 
or  soul,  or  any  form  of  martyrdom,  which  is 
not  accepted  by  thousands  in  the  hope  that 
it  will  save  their  souls.  And  all  the  time  the 
simple  way  to  the  meaning  of  life  lies  straight 
before  their  feet, — a  way,  however,  let  us 
last  of  all  remember,  which  it  is  not  enough 
to  know,  but  which  is  given  us  to  follow. 
This  is  the  truth  which  a  scholar  of  the  time 
148 


of  Luther  teaches,  though  he  himself  had 
not  fully  attained  the  truth.  Not,  he  writes, 
by  knowing  the  way  but  by  going  it,  is  the 
meaning  of  life  to  be  found.  He  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Christ  his  lesson: 


art  thou  then  so  faint  of  heart  ', 
O  man  of  little  faith? 
Have  I  not  strength  to  do  My  part 
As  God's  word  promiseth? 

Why  wilt  thou  not  return  to  Me 

Whose  pity  will  receive? 
Why  seek  not  Him  whose  grace  can  free 

And  every  fault  forgive? 

Why  was  it  hard  the  way  to  find, 
Which  straight  before  thee  ran? 

Why  dost  thou  wander  as  though  blind? 
'T'w  thine  own  choice^  0  man!" 


I49 


NOTES 


NOTE  i 

"Friedrich  Max  von  Klinger,"  says  Professor  Hilty, 
"was  born  in  1752,  at  Frankfort.  His  family  were 
poor,  and  after  he  had  with  difficulty  pursued  his 
studies  at  the  University  of  Giessen,  he  became  at  first 
a  play-writer  fora  travelling  company.  He  then  served 
during  the  Bavarian  War  of  Succession  in  a  corps  of 
volunteers.  Later  he  became  reader  and  travelling  com- 
panion to  the  Czarevitch  Paul  of  Russia,  afterwards 
the  Emperor.  He  was  made  Director  of  the  corps  of 
cadets  of  the  nobility, as  well  as  of  the  Emperor's  pages, 
and  of  the  girls'  school  for  the  nobility.  Under  Alex- 
ander I.  he  was  also  made  Curator  of  the  University 
of  Dorpat.  In  all  these  relations  of  life,  which  were  as 
difficult  as  can  be  imagined,  in  his  contact  with  a£forst 
crown-princes,  Czars,  noble  pages  and  women  of  the 
court,  diplomats  and  professors — who,  taken  together ', 
are  certainly  not  of  the  classes  most  easy  to  deal  with 
— and  living  at  a  court  thoroughly  degraded  and  be- 
set by  self-seekers  of  the  lowest  kind  as  was  the  court 
of  Catherine  II.,  von  Klinger  preserved  his  candid 
character  and  moral  courage  and  gained  the  high  re- 
specJ  of  his  contemporaries.  In  Goethe's  Wahrheit 
und  Dichtung,  he  mentions  von  Klinger  as  follows: 
teThis  maintenance  of  a  sterling  character  is  the  more 
creditable  when  it  occurs  in  the  midst  of  worldly  and 
business  life  and  when  a  way  of  conducJ  which  might 
appear  to  many  curt  and  abrupt,  being  judiciously  fol- 
lowed, accomplishes  its  ends.  Such  was  his  character. 
Without  subservience  (which,  indeed,  has  never  been  a 
quality  of  the  natives  of  Frankfort)  he  attained  to  the 

'53 


most  important  positions,  was  able  to  maintain  himself 
there  and  to  continue  his  services  with  the  highest  ap- 
proval and  gratitude  of  his  noble  patrons.  Through 
all  this,  he  never  forgot  either  his  old  friends  or  the 
paths  which  he  had  come?  In  the  later  years  of  his 
life,  Goethe  renewed  the  study  of  von  Klinger^s  writ- 
ings, '  which  recalled  to  me  his  unwearied  activity  and 
his  remarkable  character?  " 

NOTE  2 

Dante,  Purgatorio,  xxvii,  126,  131. 

NOTES 

Jakob  Bohme,from  a  supplement  to  his  works  (His- 
torische  Uebersicht). 

NOTE  4 

Dante,  Purgatorio,  xxvii,  115. 

NOTES 

Dante,  Purgatorio,  ix,  19. 

NOTE  6 

Dante,  Inferno,  Hi,  I,  9. 

NOTE; 

Dante,  Purgatorio,  iv,  88. 

NOTES 

Dhammapada,  trans!.  Charles  R.Lanman,in  Hymns 
of  the  Faith,  A.  J.  Edmunds,  Chicago,  i<)O2,page  38. 


154 


THE  QUEST  OF  HAPPINESS 

A  STUDY  OF  VICTORY  OVER  LIFE'S  TROUBLES 
BY  NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS 

Pastor  of  Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn ;  author  of11  The 

Influence  of  Christ  in  Modern  Life"  etc. 

Cloth,  Decorated  Borders,  $1.50  net 

COMMENTS 

I  find  "  The  Quest  of  Happiness "  a  very  rich  and  beauti- 
ful work.  It  is  eminently  a  book  for  the  home.  Wherever  it 
is  known  it  must  make  life  sweeter  and  more  wholesome. 
PHILIP  S.  MOXOM,  Pastor  of  South  Congregational  Church, 
Springfield,  Mass. 

It  is  a  book  full  of  help  and  sympathy,  marked  by  a  wide 
acquaintance  with  literature  and  with  life,  and  by  a  true  in- 
sight into  those  conditions  which  make  for  the  truest  and  best 
existence.  S.  P.  CADMAN,  Pastor  of  Central  Congregational 
Church,  Brooklyn. 

It  is  a  consummate  statement  of  the  highest  conception  of 
the  nature  of  human  life,  and  of  the  only  methods  by  which 
its  meaning  and  possibilities  can  be  attained.  Dr.  Hillis  is  not 
only  a  great  master  of  style,  but  a  serene  satisfaction  with 
God's  method  of  moral  government  breathes  from  every  page 
and  makes  the  teacher  trustworthy.  CHARLES  FREDERIC 
Goss. 

"The  Quest  of  Happiness"  is  Dr.  Hillis's  very  best  book. 
It  is  strong,  vivid,  clear,  and  has  a  certain  indefinable  human 
quality  which  will  be  sure  to  give  it  a  large  circulation  and 
make  it  a  source  of  great  helpfulness.  I  especially  enjoyed  the 
"Forewords."  They  would  make  an  attraftive  volume  in 
themselves.  AMORY  H.  BRADFORD,  Pastor  of  First  Congre- 
gational Church,  Montclair,  N.  J. 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
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THE  PLEASURES  OF  LIFE 

BY 

SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK 
[LORD  AVEBURY] 

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It  is  good  to  read  his  cheery  chapters,  and  to  rejoice  that 
there  is  one  such  glad  optimist  in  this  sad  world.  Boston 
Herald. 

The  tone  of  the  work  throughout  is  harmlessly  optimistic, 
and  it  has  a  hearty  and  cheery  drift,  very  salutary  for  dis- 
heartened or  over-wearied  people.  'The  Dial. 

A  good  wholesome  book.  The  literary  variety  of  expression 
is  charming.  Home  Journal. 

THE  USE  OF  LIFE 

BY 

SIR  JOHN  LUBBOCK 
Author  of  "The  Pleasures  of  Life  "  etc.,  etc. 

Cloth,    I2MO,   $1.25 

One  of  the  most  astounding  men  of  letters  of  to-day.  An  ex- 
ceptional weight  attaches  to  the  kindly  philosophy  of  his 
latest  long  talk  "The  Use  of  Life,"  and  everybody  will  rise 
the  better  from  the  perusal  of  his  meditations.  Philadelphia 
Record. 

Inspired  by  a  wholesome  optimism,  sound  common  sense, 
and  a  reverent  recognition  of  the  higher  truths  of  existence. 
Just  the  volume  that  needed  to  be  written  on  a  subjeft  full 
of  vital  interest  to  every  thoughtful  man  and  woman.  The 
Bookman. 

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